<~"' 


^^X^vVvvi 

'  ' 


THE    HEART    OF    THE    WOODS 


The  WONDER 
WOMAN 

By  MAE  VAN  NORMAN  LONG 


Illustrated   by 
J.  MASSEY  CLEMENT 


THE     PENN     PUBLISHING 
COMPANY  PHILADELPHIA 

1917 


COPYRIGHT 
1917  BY 
THE  PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


The  Wonder  Woman 


TO 
LAWSON 


2136693 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     Two  WOMEN 9 

II     HAIDEE 28 

III  I  FELL  SOME  TREES 37 

IV  WANZA    .      .      .      .      .      ..-.'.      .      .      .  46 

V     THE  LEAD 52 

VI     CAPTAIN  GRIP 65 

VII     WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 80 

VIII     GIPSYING 95 

IX     THE  Bio  MAN 114 

X     JINGLES  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE 122 

XI     THE  KICKSHAW 132 

XII     IN  SHOP  AND  DINGLE 147 

XIII  DEFICIENCIES 160 

XIV  JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 166 

XV  I  BEGIN  TO  WONDER  ABOUT  WANZA  .      .      .178 

XVI     WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 190 

XVII     THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 214 

XVIII  "  THANK  You,  MR.  FIXING  MAN  "...  237 

XIX  BEREFT  .                                                               .  255 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX     "  PERHAPS  I  SHALL  Go  AWAY  "  .      .      .      .  265 

XXI     FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 274 

XXII     RENUNCIATION 294 

XXIII     WHEN  CHRISTMAS  CAME 310 

XXIV     "  THE     FLOWER     WILL     BLOOM     ANOTHER 

YEAR"      .      .      . 319 

XXV     MY  SURPRISE 330 

XXVI     THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 344 

XXVII     MY  WONDER  WOMAN  .                                   .  363 


The  heart  of  the  woods Frontispiece 

"I  was  only  taking  a  short  cut"    .      .      .  Opposite     22 

The  gypsy  tossed  back  her  cape  ....  100 

A  sudden  yearning  sprang  up   ....  193 

"I'm  grateful  and  pleased"   .      .      .      .      .  328 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 


D 


CHAPTER  I 

X- 

TWO   WOMEN 

'*  ]    "VO  y°u  see  her  now,  Mr.  David?" 

I  nodded,  pointing  into  the  coals. 
"I  see  a  lion,  and  an  old  witch,  and 
a  monkey.     I  don't  see  any  woman." 

"There!  There!"  I  cried.  "She's  just  going 
through  the  postern  gate.  Oh,  she's  gone,  lad! 
Never  mind!  Next  time  you  may  see  her." 

"And  is  she  prettier'n  Wanza,  Mr.  David?" 

"Perhaps  not  prettier,"  I  responded. 
"Wanza  looking  out  from  beneath  the  pink-lined 
umbrella  on  her  peddler's  cart  is  very  charming, 
indeed.  But  the  woman  I  see  in  the  fire  is — oh, 
she's  altogether  different!" 

This  was  the  customary  tenor  of  my  conversa- 
tion with  Joey  as  we  sat  before  our  fire  of  pine 
knots  of  an  evening.  The  lad  would  point  out 
to  me  queer  kaleidoscopic  creatures  he  saw  deep 

9 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

in  the  heart  of  the  pine  fire;  but  his  young  eyes 
never  saw  the  face  I  beheld  there,  and  so  I  was 
obliged  to  describe  my  wonder  woman  to  him. 

It  was  not  strange  that  Joey  should  share  my 
confidence  in  this  fashion.  He  had  been  my  sole 
companion  since  the  night  four  years  before  when 
I  had  found  him — poor  tiny  lad — sobbing  on  the 
door-step  of  a  shack  some  three  miles  down  the 
river.  I  had  lifted  him  to  my  shoulder  and  en- 
tered the  shack  to  find  there  a  dying  woman. 
The  woman  died  that  night,  but  before  she  passed 
away  she  gave  the  child  to  me,  saying:  "He  is 
only  a  waif!  I  took  him  from  my  poor  brother 
when  he  died  over  on  the  Sound,  about  six 
months  ago.  My  brother  was  a  fisherman.  He 
picked  the  child  up  on  the  beach  one  morning 
after  a  fierce  storm  a  year  ago.  I  was  meaning 
to  keep  the  boy  always,  poor  as  I  be.  But  now 
— you  take  Joey,  mister, — he'll  be  a  blessing  to 

you!" 

A  blessing!  I  said  the  words  over  to  myself 
as  I  carried  the  boy  home  that  night.  I  said 
them  to  myself  when  I  awakened  in  the  morning 
and  looked  down  at  him  cradled  in  the  hollow 
of  my  arm.  I  had  been  out  of  conceit  with  life. 
For  me  the  world  was  "jagged  and  broken"  in 
very  truth.  But  looking  down  at  the  young 

10 


stranger  I  thrilled  with  the  sudden  desire  to 
smooth  and  shape  my  days  again.  To  stand 
sure!  And  here  was  a  companion  for  me!  I 
was  through  with  living  alone ! 

I  went  to  the  window,  threw  it  wide,  and  saw 
the  dawn  rosy  in  the  east.  A  mountain  blue- 
bird that  had  a  nest  in  a  hole  in  a  cottonwood 
tree  hard  by  was  perched  on  a  serviceberry  bush 
beside  the  window.  I  heard  its  song  with  rap- 
ture. I  was  smiling  when  I  turned  back  to  the 
bunk  where  I  had  left  the  child.  The  child  was 
smiling  too.  He  sat  straight  up  among  the  blan- 
kets, his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  bird,  and  he  was 
holding  out  his  little  arms.  I  lifted  him  and 
carried  him  to  the  window,  and  he  lisped:  "I 
love  birdie!  I  love  you!" 

And  so  Joey  became  my  boy. 

It  was  not  only  in  the  heart  of  the  pine  fire 
that  I  saw  the  radiant  creature  I  described  to 
Joey.  When  I  looked  from  my  workshop  door 
at  twilight  across  the  shadowy  river  to  the  cool 
purple  peaks  of  the  mountains,  the  nebular  mist 
arising  seemed  the  cloud-folds  of  her  garments. 
And  when  I  lay  on  my  back  at  noon  time,  in  the 
cedar  grove,  gazing  upward  through  the  shiver- 
ing green  dome  at  the  sky,  I  always  dreamed  of 
the  splendor  of  her  eyes. 

11 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  grew  to  wonder  how  I  should  meet  her. 
Some  way,  I  always  pictured  myself  astride  my 
good  cayuse,  Buttons,  on  the  river  road  return- 
ing from  Roselake  village,  gay  in  my  holiday 
clothes,  with  a  freshly  shaven  face,  and  a  bag  of 
peppermints  in  my  pocket  for  Joey. 

As  it  fell  out  I  was  in  my  shop  by  the  river 
at  work  on  a  cedar  chest.  I  was  garbed  in  a 
dark-blue  flannel  shirt  and  blue  overalls,  and 
needed  a  hair-cut  sadly.  I  heard  a  sound  and 
looked  up.  "She  has  come!"  I  said  to  myself. 
"Out  of  the  land  of  dreams  she  has  come  to 
me!" 

A  young  woman  stood  before  me.  The  face 
I  saw  was  oval  and  flawless.  The  cheeks  were  a 
delicate  pink.  Her  lips  were  vivid,  her  eyes 
luminous  as  stars.  Her  silky,  lustrous  hair  was 
bound  with  a  broad  band  of  blue  ribbon.  Al- 
though her  riding  skirt  was  torn,  her  blouse  soiled, 
although  she  was  dusty  and  disheveled,  with 
shadows  of  weariness  about  her  splendid  eyes,  her 
manner  was  that  of  a  young  princess  as  she  ad- 
dressed me. 

"This  place  is  for  sale,  I  understand?" 

I  had  not  thought  of  selling  the  few  acres  that 
remained  of  the  hundred-and-sixty-acre  home- 
stead I  had  taken  up  eight  years  before;  but  I 

12 


TWO  WOMEN 

was  so  overcome  with  awe  and  confusion,  that  I 
stammered  forth: 

"Why,  no — that  is,  I  think  not!  I  shall  sell 
some  time,  I  dare  say." 

Her  face  showed  a  flash  of  amusement  and 
then  grew  thoughtful. 

"It  is  a  desirable  place,"  she  murmured,  half  to 
herself. 

I  knew  then  she  had  come  to  the  shop  by  the 
yew  path — the  path  that  runs  beneath  the  trail- 
ing yews  and  winds  in  and  out  like  a  purple- 
brown  ribbon  near  the  spring,  where  the  moss 
is  downy  and  green,  and  the  bracken  is  high,  and 
the  breeze  makes  a  sibilant  sound  in  the  rushes. 
I  straightened  my  shoulders,  laid  aside  my  plane, 
and  rolled  down  my  sleeves.  Thus  far  I  had  not 
fully  appraised  my  visitor,  having  fallen  a  prey 
to  the  creeping  paralysis  of  shyness  at  my  first 
glance,  but  now,  grown  bolder,  I  stole  a  hardier 
look  at  her  face.  I  saw  the  scarlet  lips,  the 
brilliant  eyes,  and  the  ivory  forehead  beneath  the 
midnight  hair.  I  saw  the  rose  tint  on  her  cheek, 
the  tan  on  her  tender  throat  where  the  rolled-back 
collar  left  it  bare.  I  saw — and  I  breathed: 
"God  help  me!"  deep  in  my  heart;  and  there 
must  have  crept  a  warmth  that  was  disquieting 
into  my  gaze,  for  she  lowered  her  eyes  swiftly, 

13 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

and  slid  her  hand,  in  its  riding  glove,  caressingly 
along  the  smooth  surface  of  the  cedar  chest 
between  us. 

"What  beautiful  wood,"  she  said  softly. 
"You  are  a  carpenter — a  craftsman,"  she 
amended.  "How  wonderful  to  work  with  wood 
like  this." 

"Christ  was  a  carpenter,'*  a  voice — a  wee  voice 
announced  from  behind  us.  Joey  had  stolen  into 
the  shop  through  the  rear  window  as  was  his  cus- 
tom, and  curled  up  on  my  work  bench  among  the 
shavings. 

"Who  told  you,  lad  ?"  I  queried,  being  used  to 
Joey's  terse  and  unexpected  utterances. 

My  wonder  woman  looked  at  him  sharply. 
Her  black  brows  came  together  as  she  surveyed 
him,  and  she  did  not  smile.  Joey  stared  and 
stared  at  her,  until  I  thought  he  never  would  have 
done,  and  she  continued  to  scrutinize  him.  I  saw 
her  eyes  wander  over  his  attire.  Poor  lad — his 
collection  of  wearing  apparel  was  motley  enough 
— an  old  hunting  coat  of  mine  that  almost  covered 
him,  a  pair  of  trousers  unmistakably  cut  over,  a 
straw  hat  that  was  set  down  so  far  on  his  brown 
head  that  his  ears  had  perforce  to  bear  the  weight ; 
a  faded  shirt,  and  scuffed  out  shoes.  But  Joey's 
scrutiny  was  more  persistent  than  the  one  ac- 


TWO  WOMEN 

corded  him,  and  presently,  my  wonder  woman 
was  tricked  into  speech. 

"Well?"  she  murmured,  her  lips  relaxing. 

Joey  gave  a  great  sigh,  kicked  up  his  heels  like 
a  fractious  colt,  and  rolled  over  among  the  shav- 
ings. "Gracious  Lord!"  was  his  comment,  de- 
livered in  awed  tones. 

"Joey!"  I  gasped,  turning.  But  Joey  was 
slipping,  feet  first,  through  the  window.  I 
caught  him  by  the  trousers  and  gave  him  a  sur- 
reptitious shake,  as  I  lowered  him  wriggling  to 
the  ground.  He  rolled  over,  rose  to  his  knees; 
his  brown  eyes,  big  and  soft,  looked  up  at  me 
affectionately ;  his  lips  parted  in  a  grin  of  under- 
standing. 

"I'll  put  the  potatoes  on,  Mr.  David,"  he 
vouchsafed,  and  vanished. 

The  beautiful  face  was  questioning  when  I 
turned  back.  "Mr.  David,"  she  repeated.  "He 
is  not  your  boy  then?" 

I  hesitated.  "No,"  I  said  slowly.  Somehow, 
I  was  in  no  mood  to  tell  her  Joey's  story  at  that 
moment. 

"Joey  has  the  manners  of  a  young  Indian,"  I 
apologized.  "I  hope  he  did  not  annoy  you." 

"Children  never  annoy  me,"  she  replied. 

A  tiny  dimple  played  at  one  corner  of  her 
15 


mouth  and  died  suddenly  as  the  half  smile  left  her 
face.  She  bent  her  riding-whip  between  her 
hands  and  a  look  of  distress  came  into  her  eyes. 

"I  am  wrong,  then,  about  this  place  being  for 
sale?  I  saw  a  sign-board  back  there  on  the  road. 
It  said  'For  Sale'  in  bold  black  letters.  There 
was  a  big  hand  that  pointed  this  way." 

A  light  broke  in  on  me. 

"It  must  be  Russell's  old  ranch  on  Hidden 
Lake,"  I  said.  "To  be  sure,  that  is  for  sale.  It 
has  been  for  sale  ever  since  I  can  remember." 

I  saw  her  eyes  brighten. 

"There  is  a  place  I  can  buy,  then?  What  is  it 
like— this  Hidden  Lake?" 

"It  is  a  mere  pond,  hidden  in  the  thickets.  It 
can  be  reached  from  the  river.  If  you  can  find 
the  lead  you  can  pole  in  with  a  canoe.  It's  a 
famous  place  for  ducks.  The  tules  almost  fill 
it  in  summer.  There's  a  good  spring  on  the 
place,  and  I  guess  the  soil  is  fair.  One  could 
raise  vegetables  and  berries." 

"I  don't  want  to  raise  anything." 

I  fancied  her  lip  curled. 

"No — no — why,  I  dare  say  not!  How  stupid 
of  me,"  I  murmured. 

She  flirted  her  whip  impatiently. 

"Is  there  a  road  I  can  take?" 
16 


"I  will  show  you,"  I  replied,  and  she  walked 
out  of  the  shop  as  if  anxious  to  be  off. 

She  paused  in  the  cedar  thicket  beyond,  and  I 
joined  her.  We  could  see  the  river  shining  like 
silver  gauze  through  the  green  latticed  walls  of 
the  grove,  and  the  sky  above  the  steeples  of  the 
trees  was  amethyst  and  gray.  The  sun  was  low 
in  the  west,  and  the  shadows  lay  purple  along  the 
wood  aisles. 

It  was  a  magical  May  day.  Hawthorn  and 
serviceberry  bushes  waved  snowy  arms  along  the 
river  bank  and  dropped  white  petals  in  the 
stream,  the  birch  trees  dangled  long  festoons  of 
moss  above  the  water,  balm  o'  Gileads  shed  their 
pungent  perfume  abroad,  and  the  honeysuckle 
and  wild  clematis  hung  from  the  limbs  of  the 
slender  young  maples. 

I  held  aside  the  underbrush  for  my  wonder 
woman  that  she  might  pass,  and  we  went  through 
the  cedar  thicket,  threaded  our  way  through 
aspens  and  buck  brush,  and  reached  the  trailing 
yews  that  were  bending  to  dip  their  shining 
prisms  in  the  spring. 

"This  is  the  yew  path,"  I  explained,  breaking 
the  silence  that  we  had  maintained  since  leaving 
the  shop.  "It  winds  through  the  meadow  and 
joins  a  trail  that  skirts  Nigger  Head  mountain. 

17 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Follow  the  trail,  and  it  will  take  you  to  Hidden 
Lake." 

The  soft  neighing  of  a  horse  interrupted  me. 
I  peered  through  the  buck  brush,  and  glimpsed 
a  bay  mare  tethered  to  the  meadow  bars.  My 
companion  gave  a  soft  chirrup  and  pushed  on 
before  me.  She  had  the  mare's  bridle  in  her 
hand,  and  was  stroking  the  animal's  nose  when  I 
reached  her  side. 

I  said,  "Allow  me,"  and  offered  my  hand  for 
her  foot.  She  glanced  at  my  hand,  looked  into 
my  face,  and  smiled  slowly  as  if  amused.  I  felt 
the  hot  blood  mount  to  my  brow,  and  then  her 
foot  pressed  my  palm,  and  she  was  in  the  saddle, 
and  her  mare  was  wheeling. 

"Good  Sonia,"  I  heard  her  murmur,  and  saw 
her  gauntleted  hand  steal  along  the  arching  neck. 
She  bent  to  me.  The  grace  of  her  supple  figure, 
the  vital  alluring  face,  her  baffling  beautiful  eyes, 
her  ripe  lips  with  their  dimpled  corners,  were 
sweet  as  life  to  me.  For  a  moment  our  eyes  met. 
She  said  gratefully:  "Thank  you.  My  ride 
will  be  splendid  beneath  those  whispering  yews." 

Of  a  sudden  my  hands  grew  cold,  my  tongue 
stiffened  in  my  throat,  and  my  eyes  smarted. 
She  was  going.  I  had  no  power  to  detain  her, 
no  sophisticated  words  to  cajole  her.  I  stared 

18 


TWO  WOMEN 

after  her,  and  saw  her  ride  away  through  the 
swaying  meadow-grass  to  the  yew  path,  the  sun 
dappling  her  blue  riding-skirt,  and  the  breeze 
lifting  and  swaying  her  bonny  tresses. 

When  I  went  indoors  after  a  retrospective 
half -hour  beside  the  spring,  I  found  Joey  in  the 
grip  of  intense  excitement.  The  table  in  the 
front  room  was  laid  for  three,  there  was  a  roar- 
ing fire  in  the  kitchen  stove,  and  Joey's  face  was 
crimson  as  he  stood  on  a  stool  at  the  sink  turning 
the  boiling  water  off  a  kettle  of  potatoes. 

"I've  made  squatty  biscuits  like  you  showed 
me  once,"  he  volunteered  in  a  loud  whisper,  "and 
stewed  apples.  And,  Mr.  David — I've  hung  a 
clean  towel  over  the  wash-bench,  and  scoured  the 
basin  with  rushes." 

I  looked  at  Joey.  Out  in  the  woods  I  had 
undergone  a  savage  battle  with  my  old  self  that 
had  walked  out  of  the  shadows  and  confronted 
me.  I  had  remembered  things — submerged, 
well-forgotten  things;  I  had  exhumed  skeletons 
from  their  charnel  house — skeletons  long  buried ; 
I  had  seen  faces  I  had  no  wish  to  see,  heard 
voices,  the  music  of  whose  tones  I  could  not  sus- 
tain with  equanimity;  I  had  suffered.  But  as  I 
looked  at  Joey,  the  futile  little  friend  who  loved 
me,  and  saw  his  pitiful  efforts  to  please,  the  ice 

19 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

went  out  of  my  heart,  and  the  fever  out  of  my 
brain.  I  turned  aside  to  the  window  and  stood 
looking  out  with  tightening  throat. 

Joey  came  and  hovered  near  my  elbow. 

"There  are  only  two  pieces  of  gingerbread, 
Mr.  David.  I've  put  them  on,  and  you  can  just 
say  you  don't  believe  in  giving  children  sweets." 

I  laid  my  arm  across  the  lad's  shoulders.  I 
looked  down  into  the  honest  brown  eyes  seeking 
mine  for  approval.  The  pressure  of  the  two 
small  rough  hands  on  my  arm  was  comforting. 

"You're  a  splendid  provider,  Joey,"  I  cried. 
"But  you  may  eat  your  gingerbread,  my  boy. 
There  will  be  no  guest.  She  has  gone  on  to 
Hidden  Lake." 

Joey  looked  aghast.  His  jaw  dropped,  and 
his  eyes  grew  black  with  disappointment. 

"And  I've  sweetened  the  apple  sauce  with 
white  sugar,  and  gone  and  wasted  all  that  butter 
in  those  biscuits !" 

I  strolled  into  the  front  room  and  viewed  the 
preparations.  There  was  a  large  bunch  of  lupine 
in  the  big  blue  bowl  in  the  center  of  the  table, 
and  all  our  best  china  was  set  forth  in  brave 
array.  The  bread-board  I  had  carved  graced 
one  end  of  the  table;  at  the  other,  Joey  had 
arranged  the  two  thick  slabs  of  gingerbread  on  a 

20 


TWO  WOMEN 

pressed  glass  comport,  a  paper  napkin  beneath. 
I  was  smiling  as  I  stood  there,  but  I  had  an  un- 
comfortable feeling  that  all  was  not  well  with 
Joey.  A  sound  from  the  kitchen  attracted  me. 
I  went  toward  it.  Joey  leaned  across  the  sink, 
his  face  buried  in  the  roller  towel.  His  young 
shoulders  were  heaving. 

"I  wanted  her — oh,  I  wanted  her  to  stay!"  he 
blubbered. 

I  knew  not  what  to  say  to  comfort  my  lad,  and 
so  I  said  nothing.  I  caught  up  the  pail  and  went 
outside  to  the  spring  for  water. 

I  had  filled  my  pail  and  was  stooping  to  gather 
a  handful  of  cress  when  I  heard  the  sharp  click 
of  wheels  in  the  underbrush  behind  me.  Some 
one  was  driving  over  the  uneven  ground  that  lay 
between  the  cabin  and  the  workshop.  I  looked 
around.  A  girl  sitting  beneath  a  pink-lined, 
green  umbrella,  in  a  two-wheeled  cart,  waved  her 
whip  at  me.  I  straightened  up,  dropped  the 
cress,  and  ran  through  the  buck  brush  after  her. 

"Wait,  wait,  Wanza,"  I  cried. 

I  heard  her  say:  "Whoa,  Rosebud!"  And 
the  buckskin  pony  she  was  driving  curveted  and 
pawed  the  ground  and  set  the  green  paper 
rosettes  on  its  harness  bobbing  coquettishly  as 
she  pulled  it  up. 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Were  you  coming  to  the  cabin,  Wanza?"  I 
asked,  as  I  reached  the  cart. 

"Whoa,  Rosebud!  No,  I  wasn't  to-night,  Mr. 
Dale — I  was  only  taking  a  short  cut  through 
your  field." 

She  leaned  out  from  beneath  the  shadow  of  her 
pink-lined  umbrella  and  smiled  at  me.  Seldom 
it  was  that  Wanza  smiled  at  me  like  that. 
Friends  we  were — friends  of  years'  standing — 
but  Wanza  was  chary  of  her  smiles  where  I  was 
concerned,  and  I  must  confess  I  found  her 
frowns  piquant  enough. 

The  day  that  passed  without  Wanza  whistling 
from  her  peddler's  cart  at  my  door  seemed  more 
cheerless  than  usual.  Wanza  peddled  every- 
thing, from  shoe  laces  to  linen  dusters.  She  was 
the  apple  of  her  father's  eye,  the  pride  of  the 
village,  and  the  delight  of  the  steamboat  men  on 
the  river.  Ever  since  I  had  known  her  she  had 
been  her  father's  housekeeper.  Her  mother  had 
died  when  Wanza  was  a  baby.  And  she  and  her 
father  lived  alone  in  a  funny  little  house,  flanked 
by  a  funny  little  garden,  on  the  edge  of  the 
village. 

"Wanza,"  I  cried  eagerly,  "come  in  to  supper 
with  Joey  and  me." 

I  looked  up  at  her  pleadingly.  Her  charming 
22 


I    WAS    ONLY    TAKING    A    SHORT    CUT" 


TWO  WOMEN 

elf-face  continued  to  smile  down  at  me.  She 
shook  her  head  slowly. 

"Please,"  I  begged. 

Gradually  the  smile  left  her  face,  a  shrewd 
look  replaced  it. 

"I  can  make  you  a  cake,"  she  began  hesitat- 
ingly, "if  you've  got  any  brown  sugar  in  the 
cabin." 

"We  don't  want  you  to  bake  for  us,  Wanza — 
we  have  a  good  meal  laid  out,  and  we  want  you 
to  honor  us  by  sharing  it." 

"Glory!  Is  that  it,  Mr.  David  Dale?  Well, 
I'll  stay.  Not,"  she  added  quickly,  "that  I 
wouldn't  be  too  tickled  to  make  you  a  cake, 
only-" 

"Only— Wanza?" 

"Only  it's  great  to  be  invited,  with  all  the  sup- 
per ready  before  hand  and  waiting — it  sure  isl" 

"You  usually  earn  your  supper  with  us,  girl," 
I  said,  as  we  walked  toward  the  cabin.  "There 
is  no  one  can  bake  such  cakes  as  yours,  and  as  for 
your  cherry  pies — well,  I  have  no  words !" 

She  tossed  her  head.  And  then  catching  sight 
of  a  long-tailed  chat,  tumbling  and  rollicking 
above  a  hawthorn  thicket,  she  stopped,  her  head 
poised  high,  her  delicate  subtle  chin  lifted,  her 
expression  rapt.  All  unconscious  of  my  eyes 

23 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

she  began  making  a  funny  .little  noise  in  her 
throat : 

"Crr — err — whrr — tr — tr — tr — " 

It  was  pure  felicity  to  look  at  Wanza  Lyttle 
as  she  stood  thus.  She  wore  a  gown  of  pink 
cotton,  and  her  tangled  maize-colored  hair  was 
looped  back  from  her  face  with  a  knot  of  vivid 
rose-pink  ribbon.  Her  wide-brimmed  berib- 
boned  hat  hung  on  her  shoulders.  Her  collar 
was  rolled  away  from  a  throat  of  milk.  Her 
sleeves  were  tucked  up,  exposing  brown,  slender 
arms.  Her  feet  were  encased  in  white  stockings 
and  sandals.  She  was  a  picturesque,  daring 
figure.  And  her  face! — it  was  like  a  flame  in  a 
lamp  of  marble. 

Her  father,  old  Griffith  Lyttle,  was  fond  of 
dilating  on  the  beauty  of  his  daughter  to  me. 
Once  he  said:  "She  do  be  the  prettiest  young 
gal  astepping — but,  man,  I  reckon  she'll  see 
trouble  with  that  face  o'  hers.  It's  the  face  as 
goes  with  a  hot  temper."  Looking  at  her  now 
it  was  difficult  to  associate  anything  but  loveli- 
ness of  disposition  with  her  face,  which  seemed 
at  this  moment  fairly  angelic. 

"The  chat  has  a  variety  of  songs,  Wanza,"  I 
ventured.  "He  is  laughing  at  you.  Unless 


TWO  WOMEN 

you  can  caw  like  a  crow,  and  mew  like  a  cat,  and 
bark  like  a  dog  you  can't  attract  him." 

"I  like  him  because  he  is  so  bouncing  and 
jolly,"  the  girl  answered.  "I  like  bouncing, 
jolly  people,  Mr.  Dale." 

We  walked  on  to  the  cabin.  When  we  en- 
tered the  kitchen  and  Joey  saw  us,  he  gave  a 
shout  of  joy. 

"Now,  I'd  liever  have  Wanza  to  supper  than 
the  other  woman,  Mr.  David,"  he  vouchsafed. 
"I  like  the  other  woman,  course  I  do,  but  I  ain't 
used  of  her  yet." 

I  refrained  from  meeting  Wanza's  eyes.  I 
went  to  the  stove  and  took  the  biscuits  from  the 
oven  with  assiduous  care.  But  when  we  were 
seated  at  the  table,  Wanza  in  the  post  of  honor 
at  the  head,  she  leaned  across  the  battered  tea- 
things,  rapped  smartly  on  the  table  to  attract 
my  attention  and  demanded: 

"What  woman  did  Joey  mean  by  'the  other 
woman,'  Mr.  Dale?" 

I  coughed.  "Why — er — only  a  strange  lady 
who  stopped  at  the  workshop  to  enquire  if  this 
place  were  for  sale.  She  saw  Russell's  old  sign 
at  the  crossroads,  and,  as  she  explained,  thought 
the  hand  pointed  to  Cedar  Dale." 

25 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Wanza  looked  at  me  intently;  an  interesting 
gleam  came  into  her  big  eyes. 

"What  sort  of  a  looking  person  was  she,  Mr. 
Dale?" 

I  reached  out,  helped  myself  to  a  biscuit, 
spread  it  with  butter,  and  answered  with  as- 
sumed nonchalance: 

"Oh — so  so!  She  went  on  to  Hidden  Lake, 
following  my  directions." 

Happening  to  glance  across  at  Joey  I  sur- 
prised a  peculiar  expression  on  his  face.  I  saw 
astonishment  written  there  and  a  look  almost  of 
chagrin  in  his  eyes. 

"Why,  Mr.  David,"  he  burst  forth,  "I  been 
thinking  sure  she  was  our  wonder — " 

I  saved  the  situation  by  springing  from  my 
seat  and  pointing  out  of  the  window.  "Look, 
look,  Wanza  and  Joey!  There  is  a  willow 
goldfinch  on  that  little  spruce  tree  yonder.  See 
his  yellow  body,  his  black  wings  and  tail!  Isn't 
he  very  like  a  canary?  I  heard  his  song  this 
afternoon — I  told  you,  did  I  not,  lad?  Hm! — 
he  has  the  most  charming  song — sweet  as  his  dis- 
position. And  his  flight  is  wonderfully  grace- 
ful!— the  poetry  of  motion." 

When  we  went  back  to  our  seats  I  was  care- 
ful to  steer  the  conversation  into  safer  channels. 

26 


TWO  WOMEN 

That  night  at  bed-time,  Joey  confidentially 
said  to  me : 

"I  won't  tell  Wanza  that  the  new  woman  is 
our  wonder  woman — 'cause  she  mightn't  like  it. 
Anyhow,  is  she  any  more  of  a  wonder  woman 
than  Wanza,  Mr.  David?" 

It  took  me  many  months  to  answer  that  ques- 
tion satisfactorily  to  myself. 


CHAPTER  II 

HAIDEE 

ONCE,  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  lad,  in  an 
old  volume  of  poems  in  my  father's 
library  I  came  across  a  steel  engraving 
of  a  beautiful  woman.  She  had  a  small  head 
with  raven  black  tresses  bound  smoothly  about 
her  brow  with  a  fillet,  but  twisted  back  over  her 
ears  and  ending  in  ringlets  over  her  shoulders. 
She  had  big  dark  eyes,  a  tiny  mouth,  a  slim  white 
throat,  and  infinitesimally  small  hands  and  feet. 
Her  name  was  Haidee.  I  think  her  feet  fasci- 
nated me  most;  for  she  wore  shoes  unlike  any  I 
had  ever  seen,  ending  in  high  curving  points  at 
the  toes.  She  was  a  most  distracting,  elusive 
personality. 

When  my  wonder  woman  placed  her  foot  in 
my  palm,  and  mounted  her  mare  at  my  meadow 
bars,  to  myself  I  muttered:  "Haidee."  So,  the 
following  morning,  in  answer  to  Joey's  query: 
"What's  her  name,  Mr.  David?"  I  answered 
"Haidee,"  and  grinned  at  the  lad  sheepishly 

28 


HAIDEE 

through  the  smoke  that  arose  from  the  griddle 
I  was  greasing  with  bacon  rind. 

Joey,  giving  the  cake  batter  in  the  yellow 
pitcher  furtive  sly  dabs  with  the  iron  spoon  when 
he  thought  me  unaware,  looked  grave. 

"It  don't  sound  nice.  It  sounds  like  that 
name  you  say  sometimes — " 

"Ssh!" 

"When  you're  mad,"  finished  Joey  adroitly. 

I  shoved  the  stove  lid  into  place  beneath  the 
hot  griddle,  and  motioned  to  Joey  to  bring  the 
yellow  pitcher.  While  I  poured  out  the  foamy 
batter,  Joey  kept  silence,  watching  the  sizzling 
process  with  fascinated  eyes,  but  when  I  took 
the  pancake-turner  in  hand  and  opened  the 
window  to  let  the  smoke  escape,  he  spoke  again: 

"It's  bad  for  her,  ain't  it,  having  a  name  like 
that?" 

"It  isn't  her  real  name,  Joey.  It's  a  name  I 
bestowed  upon  her.  It  seemed  to  belong  to  her 
someway.  We  shall  never  see  her  again,  so  it 
does  not  matter." 

"We'll  see  her  again,  Mr.  David,  if  she  buys 
Russell's  old  ranch." 

I  paused  midway  to  the  table,  the  cake-turner 
heaped  with  steaming  cakes  in  my  hand.  I 
stared  at  Joey.  Curiously  I'd  forgotten  the 

29 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

possibility  of  Haidee  becoming  my  neighbor. 
My  wrist  trembled,  the  cakes  slipped  to  the  floor. 
Joey  pounced  upon  them,  bore  them  to  the  sink 
and  rinsed  them  painstakingly  in  the  pail  of 
fresh  spring  water. 

"I  like  cold  cakes,"  he  was  saying  manfully, 
when  I  awoke  to  the  situation. 

"So  does  the  collie.  No,  no,  lad — we  may  not 
be  living  in  affluence,  but  we  don't  have  to 
economize  on  corn  cakes."  I  laughed  boister- 
ously and  patted  his  shoulder.  "My  cedar 
chests  are  selling,  and  my  book — my  nature 
story — is  almost  completed — why,  soon  we  shall 
be  turning  up  our  noses  at  flapjacks!" 

"At  flapjacks!"  Joey  cried  incredulously, 
making  a  dash  for  the  yellow  pitcher. 

We  were  half  through  breakfast  before  he 
spoke  again,  and  then  he  ventured  tentatively: 
"Suppose  she'll  come  to-day?" 

"Who,  Joey?" 

"Her — the — woman.  The  one  that  made  me 
swear  when  I  saw  her  in  the  workshop." 

"Oh,  I'd  forgotten  your  behaviour  in  the  shop, 
Joey!  It  was  reprehensible — it  was  rude — " 

Joey  nodded.  "I  forgot  I  was  a  human 
bein'." 

He  put  his  elbows  on  the  table,  sunk  his  chin 
30 


in  his  hands,  and  regarded  me.  I  raised  my 
coffee-cup  hurriedly,  drained  the  contents,  and 
coughed  spasmodically,  Joey's  eyes  widening 
in  concern. 

Two  days  after  this  conversation  with  Joey, 
as,  butterfly-net  in  hand,  I  was  crossing  the 
ploughed  field  back  of  the  cabin  at  noon  return- 
ing from  a  collecting  trip,  I  saw  the  bent  figure 
of  a  man  approaching  along  the  river-road.  He 
carried  a  sack  of  flour  on  his  back  and  he  walked 
with  his  head  so  far  forward  that  his  chin  almost 
touched  his  knees.  I  was  feeling  particularly 
jubilant,  having  taken  four  Electas,  six  Zerenes 
and  two  specimens  of  Breuner's  Silver-spot,  and 
I  accosted  him  lustily:  "Good  day,  Lundquist." 

He  attempted  to  straighten  up,  found  the 
effort  of  no  avail,  and  nodded.  I  rested  on  the 
bars  and  he  came  slowly  toward  me.  His  red 
face  was  so  knotted  and  twisted  that  his  very 
eyes  seemed  warped  askew  beneath  his  ugly 
freckled  forehead.  His  old  hands  were  horny 
and  purple-veined,  his  legs  spindling  and  bowed. 
Poor  old  derelict!  Hapless,  hard  old  man! 
He  lived  high  up  on  Nigger  Head  mountain 
alone  with  the  birds  and  squirrels.  How  he  sub- 
sisted was  a  mystery.  But  he  always  had 
tobacco  to  smoke,  and  a  corn-cob  pipe  to  smoke 

31 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

it  in.  This  fact  comforted  me,  when  I  fell  to 
musing  on  his  meagre  estate. 

"It's  a  fine  day,  Lundquist,"  I  continued. 

He  came  closer,  halted,  and  peered  up  at  me. 

"Ya,  it  ban." 

"Been  to  town?" 

"Ya — I  been  to  town."  He  took  his  old  black 
pipe  from  his  mouth  and  crept  closer.  "Last 
night,"  he  stuttered,  in  his  rasping  broken  ac- 
cent, "last  night  I  saw  a  light,  Mr.  Dale — a 
light — down  thar." 

He  pointed  with  his  pipe-stem  over  his 
shoulder. 

"A  light?  Do  you  mean  you  saw  a  light  from 
your  cabin?" 

"Ya — in  the  old  shack  on  Hidden  Lake." 
He  chuckled.  "Thar  been  no  light  thar  fer  three 
year.  The  wood  rats  they  eat  up  the  furniture 
ole  Russell  leave.  Place  sold — maybe?" 

I  saw  Joey  watching  me  miserably  during 
dinner.  I  ate  like  an  automaton,  and  never  once 
did  I  speak.  Afterward  it  was  no  better.  I 
took  my  book  and  sat  on  a  bench  outside  the 
cabin.  Joey's  voice  soaring  high  above  the  rattle 
of  the  dishes  in  the  sink;  a  red-shafted  flicker 
hammering  noisily  on  a  pine  tree  before  the  door, 
saluting  me  with  his  "kee-yer,  kee-yer";  the 


HAIDEE 

whistle  of  the  Georgie  Oaks  at  the  draw-bridge, 
were  all  heard  as  in  a  dream.  I  was  back  in  the 
workshop  with  Haidee,  I  heard  her  eager  ques- 
tion: "There  is  a  place  I  may  buy,  then?"  I 
tried  to  picture  to  myself  Russell's  old  cabin 
metamorphosed  by  that  radiant  presence.  It  re- 
quired a  daring  stretch  of  the  imagination  to 
vision  anything  so  improbable. 

The  valley  which  lies  like  an  emerald  green 
jewel  in  the  very  lap  of  the  mountains  in  this 
section  of  Idaho,  is  watered  by  innumerable 
streams  which  it  seems  presumptuous  to  call 
rivers,  and  honeycombed  with  tiny  blue  lakes, 
their  entrance  from  the  rivers  so  concealed  by 
tangles  of  birches  and  high  green  thickets  and 
clumps  of  underbrush  that  their  existence  is  prac- 
tically unknown,  save  to  the  settlers  along  the 
adjacent  rivers  and  to  a  few  zealous  sportsmen 
who  make  portages  from  lake  to  lake,  dragging 
their  canoes  across  the  intervening  marshes  and 
of  the  Georgie  Oaks  likens  the  shadowy  St.  Joe 
and  the  equally  shadowy  but  more  obscure  Coeur 
meadow  land.  The  tourist  sitting  on  the  deck 
d'Alene  river  to  the  Rhine,  and  bemoans  the 
absence  of  storied  castles,  never  dreaming  of  the 
chain  of  jeweled  lakes  that  lies  just  beyond. 

It  was  on  the  most  cleverly  hidden  of  these 
33 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

lakes  that  Russell's  cabin  stood.  Years  before 
I  had  paddled  down  the  river  and  contrived  to 
find  the  lead.  But  the  thickets  were  still  deeper 
now,  and  I  doubted  my  ability  to  find  the  narrow 
aperture.  Toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
therefore,  I  threw  the  saddle  on  Buttons,  and 
rode  away  beneath  the  fragrant  yews,  seeking  the 
trail  that  skirted  the  mountain. 

The  day  was  fair,  the  sky  a  soft  azure,  and 
the  wheat  fields  rippled  in  a  sultry  breeze;  but 
as  I  left  the  trail  and  descended  through  a 
boscage  of  cedars  and  scrub  pines,  following  the 
damp  clay  path  to  Hidden  Lake,  I  shivered  in 
spite  of  the  warmth  of  the  day.  And  when  I 
rode  through  the  rushes  that  grew  as  high  as  a 
man's  head,  and  emerged  on  the  cozy  grey  beach, 
and  gazed  across  the  deep  blue,  unnatural  quiet 
of  the  water,  I  was  weighted  down  by  a  weird 
depression.  I  felt  suddenly  like  a  puny  thing, 
shaken  with  the  knowledge  of  my  own  mutability. 
A  bittern  rose  up  from  the  tules,  flapped  its 
wings  and  gave  its  honking  note  of  desolation ;  a 
flock  of  terns  on  a  piece  of  driftwood  emitted 
raucous  cries.  Russell's  cabin  stood  before  me, 
weather-beaten,  warped,  and  unsightly;  moss  on 
the  roof,  bricks  falling  from  the  chimney,  the 
door  steps  rotted,  the  small  porch  sagging. 


HAIDEE 

I  slid  off  my  cayuse  and  stood  contemplating 
the  ravages  about  me.  Not  a  sound  came  from 
the  cabin.  Presently,  I  gathered  my  courage 
sufficiently  to  mount  the  steps  and  knock  with 
the  butt  of  my  whip  on  the  slatternly  door  that 
stood  ajar.  I  received  no  response.  I  waited. 
The  bittern  in  the  tules  gave  its  pumping  call, 
"piimper-lunk,  pumper-lunk,"  and  the  hollow 
rushes  droned  suddenly  in  the  wind  like  ghoulish 
piccolos.  I  pushed  open  the  door  without 
further  ado  and  looked  within. 

I  saw  a  small  room,  dust-covered  and  cob-web 
frescoed.  The  floor  was  littered  with  refuse,  the 
fireplace  held  a  bank  of  gray  ashes,  the  home- 
made furniture  had  fallen  a  prey  to  the  savage 
onslaughts  of  wood  rats.  A  damp  and  disagree- 
able odor  permeated  the  air.  "Surely  she  has 
not  been  here,"  I  said  to  myself. 

I  stepped  to  a  door  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  turned  the  wobbly  knob,  peered  within, 
and  shrank  back,  confounded  at  what  I  saw. 

The  light  was  streaming  in  through  a  window 
that  had  been  recently  washed  and  polished  until 
it  shown,  over  a  floor  freshly  scoured.  A  small 
white-draped  dressing  table  with  all  a  woman's 
dainty  toilet  paraphernalia  met  my  prying  eyes ; 
a  small  cot  gleamed  fresh  and  spotless  in  a 

35 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

corner;  and  on  every  chair,  and  ranged  on  the 
floor  around  the  room,  were  canvases  of  various 
sizes  with  tantalizing  impressionistic  bits  of  the 
outdoor  world  painted  upon  them,  while  stream- 
ing from  an  open  trunk  and  overflowing  in 
sumptuous,  foamy  sensuousness  to  the  crude  pine 
floor  was  the  lingerie  of  a  fastidious  woman. 

I  took  myself  out  of  the  house  post-haste, 
threw  myself  into  my  saddle,  and  plunged  away 
into  the  enveloping  shadows  of  the  cedar  thicket. 
That  night  I  climbed  up  Nigger  Head  almost  to 
old  Lundquist's  very  door.  I  cast  my  eyes  down 
in  the  direction  of  Hidden  Lake.  I  saw  a  small 
red  light  gleaming  there.  I  lay  down  on  a  ledge 
of  rock  and  watched  the  light,  watched  it  until 
toward  midnight  it  disappeared,  the  wind  came 
up  with  a  soughing  sound,  the  tall  pines  creaked 
and  swayed  above  my  head,  and  I  walked  down 
the  mountain — the  rain  in  my  face. 


36 


CHAPTER  III 

I  FELL   SOME  TREES 

ALL  night  the  rain  pelted  furiously 
against  my  window,  and  the  wind  blew 
a  hurricane,  roaring  in  the  pine  trees, 
maundering  in -my  chimney,  and  rattling  the 
loose  casements.  In  the  morning  the  rain  had 
ceased.  The  sky  was  massed  with  black  clouds, 
but  streaks  of  blue  glimmered  here  and  there,  and 
there  was  a  glorious  rainbow. 

"Oh,  Mr.  David,"  Joey  shouted,  hanging  on 
my  arm  as  I  opened  the  front  door,  "the  sky 
looks  like  a  Bible  picture!"  But  I  was  thinking 
of  Haidee  and  wondering  how  she  had  borne  the 
storm,  alone  on  the  shore  of  that  black  melan- 
choly lake,  through  all  the  devastating  night.  A 
huge  pine  tree  lay  uprooted  across  the  path,  the 
serviceberry  bushes  were  stripped  bare  of  bloom, 
and  a  cottonwood  growing  on  the  river  bank 
sprawled,  a  shattered  giant,  bathing  its  silver 
head  in  the  water. 

I  evaded  Joey,  slipped  around  to  the  tool-shed, 
37 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

and  taking  my  ax  and  crosscut  saw,  mounted  my 
cayuse  and  rode  stealthily  away.  When  I  got 
within  sight  of  the  cabin  on  Hidden  Lake,  I 
looked  around  me  fearfully.  Smoke  was  coming 
from  the  chimney,  and  the  cabin  seemed  un- 
scathed. And  then  I  saw  that  one  of  the  tower- 
ing pine  trees  in  the  draw  adjacent  had  fallen, 
and  in  falling  had  barely  grazed  the  lean-to. 
The  cabin  had  miraculously  escaped. 

I  rode  around  to  the  rear  of  the  cabin  and 
knocked  with  my  whip  on  the  closed  door.  A 
figure  rose  up  suddenly  out  of  the  bracken  by 
the  spring  and  came  to  my  horse's  head.  A 
figure  in  a  crumpled  red  cape,  with  big  startled 
tired  eyes,  and  pale  cheeks. 

"I  have  come  to  cut  down  every  tree  that  en- 
dangers the  cabin,"  I  announced  grimly. 

She  looked  at  me,  brushed  her  disordered  hair 
back  from  her  eyes,  attempted  to  speak,  and  fail- 
ing, dropped  her  head  forward  against  the 
horse's  neck  and  stood  with  face  hidden. 

"I  came  as  soon  as  I  could,"  I  continued, 
brooding  above  the  wonderful  bent  head  with  its 
heavy  ringlets  of  hair. 

A  sound  unintelligible  answered  me.  I  sat 
there  awkwardly,  scarcely  knowing  what  was  ex- 
pected of  me.  Presently  she  moved,  looked  up 

38 


I  FELL  SOME  TREES 

at  me,  and  smiled.  Her  purple-black  eyes  were 
dewy.  Standing  there  in  her  jaunty  cape  and 
short  skirt,  with  her  opulent  hair  unbound  and 
sweeping  her  shoulders,  she  might  have  been  a 
timid  schoolgirl;  and  suddenly  I  lost  my  awe  of 
her,  though  my  admiration  deepened. 

"Were  you  alone  through  all  that  brute  of  a 
storm?" 

"Yes." 

I  got  off  my  horse,  and  she  took  the  bridle 
from  my  hand. 

"I  shall  have  to  get  a  woman  to  stay  with  me," 
she  said  slowly. 

"An  elderly  woman?" 

"No!  No!  A  young  woman — a  strapping 
country  girl  with  boisterous  spirits,"  she  pro- 
tested, an  odd  husky  catch  in  her  voice. 

I  revolved  this  in  my  mind.  "Wanza  Lyttle 
is  the  very  one  for  you,"  I  declared  jubilantly. 
Then  I  added  uncertainly:  "That  is,  if  she  will 


come." 


"And  who  is  Wanza  Lyttle?" 

"Oh,  Wanza  is  a  wonderful  girl,"  I  answered, 
warming  to  my  part.  "She  drives  a  peddler's 
cart.  I've  no  doubt  she  will  call  on  you.  There 
never  was  such  a  peddler's  cart  as  Wanza's,  I'll 
give  you  my  word.  It  has  a  green  umbrella  with 

39 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

a  pink  lining,  and  two  green  wheels  with  pink 
spokes,  and  Wanza's  buckskin  pony  is  never 
without  a  green  paper  rosette  for  his  harness — " 

"You're  not  telling  me  much  about  Wanza, 
after  all,"  Haidee  interrupted,  opening  her  velvet 
eyes  wide,  and  favoring  me  with  an  odd  glance. 

"Oh,  but  I  am,  I  am  going  on  to  tell  you  that 
Wanza  lined  the  green  umbrella  herself,  and 
painted  her  cart.  She  is  very  capable.  She 
makes  cherry  pies  that  melt  in  your  mouth. 
And  her  tatting! — you  should  see  her  tatting." 

"It's  on  all  her  dresses,  I  suppose?" 

"It  is.  And  her  dresses  are  pink  and  starchy. 
Yes,"  I  ended,  "Wanza  is  very  capable,  in- 
deed— "  I  hesitated.  It  was  awkward  not  know- 
ing what  to  call  my  wonder  woman. 

"My  name  is  Judith  Batter ly,"  she  said  quietly, 
seeing  my  hesitation — "Mrs.  Batterly.  I  am  a 
widow." 

A  turbulent  tide  of  crimson  swept  up  to  her 
brow  as  she  spoke.  Her  eyes  sought  the  ground. 
There  was  a  silence.  The  sun  had  forsaken  its 
nest  of  feathery  clouds  and  all  the  shy  woodland 
things  began  to  prink  and  preen.  A  flycatcher 
ruffled  its  olive  plumage  on  an  old  stump  in  the 
spring,  a  blue  jay  jargoned  stridently.  Above 
our  heads  tiny  butterflies  floated — an  iridescent, 

40 


I  FELL  SOME  TREES 

turquoise  cloud.     A  fragrant  steam  arose  from 
the  damp  earth. 

As  the  sound  of  my  trusty  ax  rang  through 
the  woods,  and  I  chopped  and  sawed  with  a  will 
all  through  the  morning,  I  asked  myself  what  it 
mattered  to  me  whether  Haidee  were  maid,  wife 
or  widow.  I  asked  myself  this,  over  and  over 
again,  and  I  did  not  answer  my  own  ques- 
tion. 

By  noon  I  was  hot,  streaming  with  perspira- 
tion, and  covered  with  chips  and  sawdust.  I  was 
inspecting  a  symmetrical,  soaring  white  fir-tree 
that  towered  some  fifty  feet  distant  from  the 
cabin,  when  a  voice  behind  me  cried:  "No,  no!" 
so  peremptorily,  that  I  started. 

I  turned  to  see  Haidee  standing  there.  She 
had  looped  up  the  masses  of  her  black  hair,  and 
discarded  the  scarlet  cape  for  a  white  corduroy 
jacket.  A  white  duck  skirt  gave  her  an  im- 
maculate appearance. 

"I  want  that  fir  left,"  she  explained. 

"Your  cabin  is  in  jeopardy  while  it  stands," 
I  assured  her. 

"Oh,  I'll  take  the  risk,"  she  said  carelessly. 

"It  is  foolish  to  take  a  risk,"  I  countered. 

She  smiled.  "Are  all  woodsmen  as  cautious  as 
you?" 

41 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Now,  I  am  convinced  she  was  only  bantering 
me,  but  I  chose  to  take  offense.  I  looked  at  her 
cool  daintiness,  and  met  her  level  gaze  with  shift- 
ing sullen  eyes.  I  was  unpleasantly  aware  of 
the  figure  I  presented,  with  my  grimy  hands 
and  soiled  clothing,  and  red,  streaming  face. 
I  reached  for  my  handkerchief,  remembered 
that  I  had  lent  it  to  Joey,  and  used  the  back 
of  my  hand,  instead,  to  wipe  my  beaded  fore- 
head. 

"It  is  sometimes  fortunate  for  the  new-comer 
that  we  woodsmen  are  before-handed,"  I  said 
pointedly. 

At  this,  a  stain  of  carmine  crept  into  the  flaw- 
less face.  Resentment  deepened  in  her  eyes. 
"Thank  you  for  your  morning's  work,  my  man," 
she  said,  as  if  to  an  inferior.  "How  much  do  I 
owe  you?" 

A  vast  slow  anger  shook  me.  I  saw  her 
through  hot  eyes.  I  did  not  answer.  She  lifted 
her  shoulders  with  a  forebearing  shrug,  and 
tendered  me  a  coin  on  a  palm  that  was  like  a 
pink  rose  petal.  I  snatched  at  the  coin.  I  sent 
it  spinning  into  the  buck  brush.  And  I  turned 
on  my  heel. 

"When  you  want  that  tree  felled,  send  for  old 
Lundquist  back  on  Nigger  Head.  He's  the 

42 


I  FELL  SOME  TREES 

man  you  want,"  I  growled,  jerking  my  thumb 
over  my  shoulder. 

By  the  time  I  reached  Cedar  Dale,  I  was  over- 
come with  chagrin  and  remorse  at  my  uncouth 
behavior.  The  more  so,  when  on  dismounting  I 
turned  Buttons  over  to  Joey's  eager  hands;  for 
in  the  saddle-bag  Joey  discovered  a  small  flat 
parcel  addressed:  "To  the  boy  who  goes  to 
Sunday-School."  The  parcel  contained  pepper- 
mints of  a  kind  Joey  had  never  encountered  be- 
fore, and  a  gaily  striped  Windsor  tie  between  the 
leaves  of  a  book  of  rhymes. 

Each  night  after  that  I  climbed  Nigger  Head 
and  lay  on  my  ledge  of  basaltic  rock  and  watched 
the  light  down  on  Hidden  Lake.  Each  time  the 
wind  came  up  in  the  night,  I  turned  uneasily  on 
my  pillow  and  thought  of  Haidee  alone  in  that 
ramshackle  cabin.  And  I  worried  not  a  little 
over  that  white  fir  that  towered  there,  sentinel 
like,  but  menacing  her  safety. 

Joey  surprised  me  one  day  with  the  informa- 
tion that  he  had  been  to  Hidden  Lake. 

"I  took  Jingles — the  collie.  Jingles  carried 
the  basket,"  he  added. 

"What  basket?"  I  asked  sharply,  looking  up 
from  the  flute  I  was  making  for  Joey  out  of  a 
bit  of  elder. 

43 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"The  basket  with  the  strawberries." 

I  knew  of  course  they  were  berries  from  my 
vines,  that  were  unusually  flourishing  for  that 
season  of  the  year,  but  I  continued: 

"What  strawberries,  Joey?" 

Joey's  honest  eyes  never  wavered.  He  smiled 
at  me,  pursed  his  lips,  and  attempted  a  whistle. 

"I'm  most  sure  I  saw  a  little  brown  owl  fly  out 
of  a  hole  in  the  ground  last  night,  Mr.  David," 
he  ventured,  giving  over  the  whistling  after  a 
time.  "Do  owls  burrow  in  holes — like  rabbits?" 

"What  strawberries,  Joey?"  I  repeated  perse- 
veringly. 

"Our  strawberries — mine  and  yours,  I  put 
green  salmon  berry  leaves  in  the  basket.  Jingles 
carried  it  so  careful!  Never  spilled  a  berry." 

I  stroked  the  shaggy  head  at  my  knee.  "He's 
a  good  old  fuss  pup.  Aren't  you,  Jingles?" 

"That's  what  she  said,  Mr.  David.  I  sat  on 
her  porch  a  whole  hour.  She  asked  the  most 
questions."  Joey  reflected.  "People  always 
ask  boys  questions." 

"Do  they,  Joey?" 

"Gracious — goodness!  I  should  say  so!  She 
asked  me  what  I  was  agoing  to  be  when  I  grow 
up.  I  told  her — "  Joey  came  over  to  my  knee 
and  stroked  the  flute  in  my  hand  caressingly. 

44 


I  FELL  SOME  TREES 

"What  did  you  tell  her,  boy?" 

"I  told  her,"  he  took  his  hand  away  and  looked 
at  me  slyly,  "I  told  her  I  was  agoing  to  be  a 
fixing  man  like  you." 


CHAPTER  IV 

WANZA 

"*W  JT   TANZA,"  I  asked,  "how  would  you 
%/\ /     like  to  earn  some  money?" 

T      T  Wanza's  big  child  eyes  looked 

at  me  from  beneath  the  curls  that  tumbled  dis- 
tractingly  about  her  fair  face. 

"Mr.  Dale,"  she  said  solemnly,  "I  earn  six 
dollars  a  week  with  my  cart." 

We  were  sitting  on  the  river  bank  in  the  shade 
of  some  cottonwoods,  having  met  at  the  village 
post-office.  We  had  met  at  three  o'clock,  and  it 
was  close  onto  five  when  I  propounded  my  query. 
I  admitted  to  myself,  when  I  put  the  question, 
that  I  had  been  philandering.  But  there  was 
not  a  swain  in  the  village  of  Roselake  who  did 
not  philander  with  Wanza.  And  Wanza,  gay, 
quick-tempered,  happy-hearted  Wanza — who 
knew  if  she  were  as  guileless  as  she  seemed  with 
her  frank  camaraderie? 

"To  be  sure  you  do,"  I  answered  her,  lying 
back  on  the  soft  green  turf  and  lazily  watching 
the  skimming  clouds  high  above  the  terre  verte 

46 


WANZA 

steeples  of  the  pines,  "to  be  sure  you  do.  But 
how  would  you  like  to  earn  thirty  dollars  a 
month — and  still  drive  your  cart?" 

"Mr.  Dale,"  Wanza  returned,  solemnly  as  be- 
fore, "it  can't  be  done." 

Her  eyes  had  grown  bigger  and  brighter,  and 
she  rocked  forward,  clasping  her  hands  over  her 
knees.  I  did  not  reply  to  this  assertion,  and 
after  a  pause  she  spoke  one  word,  still  hugging 
her  knees  and  keeping  her  corn-flower  blue  eyes 
fixed  steadily  on  the  river.  "How?" 

"Wanza,"  I  asked,  "did  you  know  Russell's 
old  ranch  on  Hidden  Lake  had  been  sold?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"A  lady  has  bought  it.  And  this  lady  wants 
a  companion — some  one  young  and  lively.  I 
think  she  would  pay  you  well  for  being — er — 
lively.  And  I  am  almost  sure  she  would  not 
object  to  the  peddler's  cart,  if  you  would  give  up 
your  evenings  to  her — " 

Wanza  spoke  abruptly.  "No  I  Oh,  no !  No, 
indeed!"  she  declared. 

I  was  puzzled.  "Why,"  I  said,  "I  thought 
the  plan  a  capital  one." 

"But  it  isn't.  Just  think  of  it,  Mr.  Dale. 
Daddy  at  home  alone  every  evening,  and  me — all 
smugged  up,  asetting  there  on  one  side  of  the 

47 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

kitchen  table — her  on  the  other — me  asewing, 
and  her  aknitting  and  asleeping  in  her  chair. 
Oh,  I  think  I  have  a  large  sized  picture  of  myself 
doing  it." 

"Wanza,"  I  began  tactfully,  "how  old  do  you 
think  the  lady  is?" 

Wanza's  lips  drew  down,  and  she  shook  her 
head. 

"She  is  not  old,"  I  ventured. 

"But  I  hate  rich  ladies  when  they're  middle- 
aged,  Mr.  Dale.  A  rich  woman,  middle-aged,  is 
as  bad  as  a  poor  one  when  she's  terrible,  squeezy 
old.  The  rich  one'll  want  tea  and  toast  in  bed, 
and  a  fire  in  her  bedroom." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  can't  vouch  for  the  lady's 
personal  habits,  but  I'm  quite  certain  she  won't 
nod  over  her  knitting,  and  I  shouldn't  call  her 
middle-aged,  Wanza." 

Wanza  looked  suddenly  suspicious.  "Is  she 
the  lady  as  came  to  your  workshop,  Mr.  Dale?" 

"Yes,  Wanza." 

"How  old  would  you  say  she  was?" 

"Not  over  twenty-six." 

"Twenty-six."  A  suspicious  glint  darkened 
Wanza's  blue  eyes.  "Pretty?" 

"Yes." 

The  eyes  glowered. 

48 


WANZA 

"Thirty  a  month  would  be  a  help,  now,  Wanza, 
wouldn't  it?"  I  wheedled. 

Wanza  threw  out  both  arms,  dropped  back  on 
the  grass  and  lay  with  closed  eyes.  Presently 
she  murmured  faintly:  "Did  you  say  thirty  a 
month?" 

"I  said  thirty  a  month,"  I  repeated  firmly. 

One  eye  opened.  Wanza  kicked  a  pine  cone 
into  the  river,  opened  the  other  eye,  and  stared 
at  the  tips  of  her  copper-toed  shoes  fixedly. 

"Thirty  a  month  added  to  twenty-four — Mm! 
I  could  go  to  school  next  year,  Mr.  Dale." 

"You  could." 

"I  could  learn  how  to  talk." 

"How  to  talk  correctly,"  I  amended. 

"That's  what  I  meant.     Well,  it  all  depends." 

"On  what,  Wanza?" 

"On  her.  If  she's  a  certain  kind,  I  can't  go — 
if  she  isn't,  I  can." 

"It  sounds  simple,"  I  decided. 

We  were  silent  for  a  time.  I  lay  back  with 
half  closed  eyes,  watching  a  king  bird  that  had  a 
nest  in  a  cottonwood  tree  on  the  bank  hard  by. 
Presently  Wanza  spoke  lazily: 

"There's  a  lot  of  those  Dotted  Blue  butterflies 
hovering  about,  Mr.  Dale — the  gay  little  busy 
things — they  look  like  flowers  with  wings." 

49 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  unclosed  my  eyes  and  looked  at  the  azure 
cloud  before  us. 

"Those  are  the  Acmon,  girl.  See  the  orange- 
red  band  on  the  hind  wings.  Look  closely. 
The  Dotted  Blue  have  a  dusky  purplish 
band." 

"Of  course.  I  don't  seem  to  learn  very  fast. 
But  I'm  getting  to  know  the  birds,  and  I  do 
know  heaps  about  the  wild  flowers.  I  never  saw 
such  big  daisies  as  I  saw  to-day  in  the  meadow 
back  of  our  house — I  don't  suppose  you  call  them 
daisies — and  a  yellow  throat  has  a  nest  among 
'em.  Yes!  Oh,  the  meadow  looks  like  a  snow 
field!  I  been  watching  the  daisies — they  close 
up  at  night,  tight." 

"And  they  open  with  the  dawn.  Daisies  are 
not  very  common  in  the  west.  I  must  have  a 
look  at  your  snow  field." 

Wanza's  luxuriant  hair  of  richest  maize  color 
was  spread  out  in  sheeny  wealth  over  the  pillow 
of  pine  needles  on  which  her  head  rested.  I 
reached  out  negligently  and  separated  a  long  curl 
from  its  fellows.  "How  silky  and  fine  it  is,"  I 
commented.  Wanza  lay  motionless.  "It  would 
be  wonderful — washed,"  I  murmured,  half  to 
myself. 

Wanza  kicked  another  pine  cone  into  the  river. 
50 


WANZA 

"Plenty  of  soap  and  a  thorough  rinsing,"  I 
continued  musingly. 

"Let  it  alone,"  Wanza  commanded  crossly, 
her  light  brows  coming  together  over  stormy 
eyes. 

"I  can't,"  I  said  teasingly.  "My  fingers  are 
rough,  and  it  clings." 

Wanza  sat  up  quickly,  cried  "Ouch!"  and  the 
next  instant  I  received  a  stinging  slap  on  the 
cheek.  I  caught  her  by  the  elbows,  got  to  my 
feet,  and  pulled  her  up  beside  me. 

"I  think  I  won't  recommend  you  to  the  lady 
who  has  bought  Russell's  old  ranch,  after  all," 
I  taunted.  "She  wouldn't  want  a  virago." 

She  gave  a  smothered  sound  and  put  her  head 
down  suddenly  into  the  crook  of  her  arm,  and  I 
felt  that  she  was  weeping.  I  looked  down  at  the 
sunny  hair  straying  in  beautiful  disarray  over 
the  rough  sleeve  of  my  flannel  shirt,  and  I 
experienced  a  pang  of  self-reproach.  I  had 
wounded  her  pride.  I  had  offended  grievously. 
Repentantly  I  attempted  to  lift  the  burrowing 
chin. 

"I  was  only  teasing,  silly,"  I  was  beginning. 

Wanza's  head  came  up  with  an  abrupt  jerk, 
and — she  bit  me — a  nasty,  sharp  little  nip  on  my 
ingratiating  finger. 

51 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  LEAD 

I  SEEMED   to  have  cut  myself  off  quite 
effectually  from  communication  with  either 
Haidee   or   Wanza.     The   days   went   by, 
colorless  and  unlovely.     And  June  came  at  last, 
bringing  new  wonderful  wild  flowers,  and  added 
tassels  to  the  tamaracks,  and  browner  stalks  to 
the  elder  bushes. 

One  unusually  hot  afternoon  I  sat  in  my  canoe, 
idly  drifting  on  the  shadowy  river,  marvelling  at 
the  clear  cut  reflections,  and  casting  an  eye  about 
for  a  certain  elusive  break  in  the  screen  of  willow 
shoots  and  rushes.  If  I  once  paddled  my  craft 
successfully  through  this  meagre  opening,  I 
knew  I  should  find  a  narrow  waterway  that 
would  convey  me  to  the  shore  of  Hidden  Lake. 
What  I  should  do  when  I  reached  that  shore 
was  a  matter  of  conjecture.  But  after  paddling 
along  close  to  the  high  grass  and  floundering 
about  in  the  tules  for  an  hour,  I  gave  over  my 

52 


THE  LEAD 

search,  rested  on  my  paddle,  and  fell  into  deep 
thought.  And  my  thoughts  were  not  pleasant 
ones.  Like  the  man  in  the  story,  I  realized  that 
at  a  certain  hour  of  a  certain  day  I  had  been  a 
fool. 

A  slight  sound  disturbed  my  reverie.  I  looked 
ahead.  A  canoe  came  slipping  along  in  the 
shade  of  the  willows.  As  I  stared  and  stared,  a 
voice  hailed  me,  a  voice  compelling  and  shrill. 
Wanza  sat,  paddle  in  hand,  the  thick  fair  hair 
pleached  low  on  her  brows  and  bound  with  a 
crimson  handkerchief,  her  young  eyes  disdainful, 
her  lips  sulky.  When  she  met  my  eyes  she 
frowned. 

I  swept  my  canoe  close  to  hers.  "Did  you  call 
me?"  I  asked,  with  marked  respect. 

She  frowned  still  more  deeply. 

"Wanza,"  I  cried,  with  swift  cajolery, 
"washed  or  unwashed  your  hair  is  wonderful. 
It  is  the  color  of  corn  silk,  and  your  eyes  are 
surely  blue  as  the  corn-flowers.  Will  you  for- 
give my  rudeness  when  last  we  met?" 

She  smiled  ever  so  slightly  and  the  heaviness 
left  her  face. 

"How  is  business?"  I  asked. 

"I've  sold  one  whisk  broom,  five  spools  of 
darning  cotton,  a  pair  of  cotton  socks,  and  three 

53 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

strings  of  blue  glass  beads,  to-day,"  she  said 
succinctly. 

"Glass  beads  are  the  mode,  then?  It  is  shock- 
ing how  out  of  touch  I  am  with  the  world  of 
fashion  beyond  Cedar  Dale."  I  smiled  across 
at  the  flushed  face.  "Now  who  among  the 
rancher's  wives,  I  wonder,  could  have  had  the 
temerity  to  pay  the  price  of  three  strings  of  blue 
glass  beads." 

Wanza  drew  her  paddle  from  the  water,  giving 
her  head  a  backward  toss.  "And  it  isn't  to 
ranchers'  wives  or  town  folks  I've  been  selling 
the  beads.  It's  to  the  gipsies  at  the  gipsy  en- 
campment beyond  the  village."  Of  a  sudden 
her  face  crumpled  with  an  expression  of  sly  re- 
flection. "A  gipsy  woman  told  my  fortune  too, 
Mr.  Dale;  oh,  a  great  fortune  she  told  me!" 

"What  did  she  tell  you,  child?"  I  asked, 
anxious  to  appear  friendly  and  interested.  "It 
must  have  been  something  exceptionally  good, 
since  you  are  so  vastly  pleased." 

Her  light  brows  came  together.  She  shook 
her  head  until  her  hair  spun  out  riotously  like 
fine  zigzag  flames  about  her  damask  cheeks.  "It 
was  not  a  bit  good.  It  was  as  bad  as  bad  could 
be.  Hm!  It  made  me  shiver,  Mr.  Dale.  She 
said  she  saw,"  Wanza  lowered  her  voice  and 

54 


THE  LEAD 

glanced  apprehensively  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
tree  shadows,  "she  said  she  saw  blood  on  my 
hands." 

In  spite  of  myself  I  felt  myself  grow  cold,  sit- 
ting there  with  the  warm  sun  on  my  back.  And 
I  cried  out  angrily:  "Have  you  no  better  sense 
than  to  listen  to  a  pack  of  foolish  lies  from  the 
tongue  of  a  vagabond  gipsy  ?  I  am  surprised  at 
you,  Wanza.  Surprised — yes,  and  ashamed  of 
you!" 

I  dipped  my  paddle  into  the  water  and  swung 
my  canoe  about. 

"Wait,"  I  heard  a  surprisingly  meek  voice  en- 
treat. "I  thought  you  was  going  to  get  me  a 
place  with  the  lady  as  has  bought  Russell's  old 
place.  Have  you  forgotten,  Mr.  Dale?" 

I  rested  on  my  paddle.  "Oh,  no,"  I  said, 
airily,  "I  have  not  forgotten!" 

"I  believe  you've  been  hunting  for  the  opening 
in  the  willows  and  haven't  been  able  to  find  it, 
either!  And  here  was  I  hoping  you  could  help 
me!  I  been  looking  for  it  for  an  hour.  I  was 
going  to  see  this  woman  at  Hidden  Lake,  myself. 
After  a  while  when  I  get  to  a  slack  time  with  my 
peddling  I  may  take  the  place  with  her." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  I  felt  her  search- 
ing eyes  on  my  face. 

55 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"To  be  sure,"  I  said  then,  "I  can  find  the 
tricksy  aperture  that  leads  to  the  narrow  water 
route  that  runs  between  this  river  and  Hidden 
Lake—'* 

Wanza  interrupted  me  with  an  impish  laugh. 

"It  sounds  like  that  nursery  rhyme  you  say  to 
Joey." 

"Yes,"  I  went  on  with  the  air  of  weighing  the 
matter,  "I  can  find  the  opening  very  easily,  I 
dare  say,  when  I  come  to  look  for  it." 

Her  eyes  grew  grave.  She  favored  me  with 
a  ruminative  glance.  Presently  she  said: 

"Well,  go  ahead — find  the  tricksy  aperture! 
I'm  waiting." 

I  propelled  my  canoe  forward.  "I  shall  find 
the  open  sesame,"  I  boasted. 

The  gravity  left  her  eyes;  they  grew  starry 
with  mirth.  She  repeated  gayly: 

"Go  ahead!" 

After  all  it  was  through  sheer  good  luck  that 
I  found  the  entrance  to  the  slight  channel  that 
led  to  the  lake.  Wanza  gave  me  a  surprised 
glance  as  I  held  aside  the  willow  shoots  lest  the 
branches  rake  her  head,  as  her  canoe  slipped 
through  the  leafy  opening  in  the  wall  of  high 
growing  greenery.  My  blood  flowed  smoothly 
and  deliciously  through  my  veins  as  I  answered 

56 


THE  LEAD 

her  glance  and  swept  my  canoe  along  close  to 
hers,  letting  the  willows  swing  into  place  behind 
us. 

Oh,  the  secretive  charm  of  the  weaving,  rib- 
bon-like waterway,  as  it  glided  in  and  out  be- 
tween the  high  willow-fringed  banks  of  the 
meadows!  Oh,  the  flowered  border-ways  past 
which  the  curling  stream  ran  turbidly,  oily  and 
dark  and  shadow-flecked,  beneath  the  shivering 
grey-green  tree  arcade.  Oh,  the  perfume  of  the 
syringa,  the  pipe  of  mating  birds,  the  bee  droning 
that  made  the  air  sensuous  with  sound.  We 
were  borne  along  silkenly.  We  scarcely  spoke. 
We  drifted  thus  for  a  time,  and  then  the  channel, 
gradually  widening,  conveyed  us  through  leafy 
growths  and  over-arching  green  to  the  lake,  snug 
in  its  frame  of  cedars. 

Ten  minutes  later  I  stood  on  the  crumbling 
steps  of  the  old  cabin  and  looked  up  at  Wanza, 
where  she  stood,  leaning  against  the  door  frame, 
a  waving  curtain  of  woodbine  casting  delicate 
shadows  on  her  face.  Glancing  down  and  meet- 
ing my  eyes  she  smiled. 

"Shall  I  knock?"  she  whispered. 

I  nodded. 

But  her  knock  elicited  no  response. 

"I  reckon  she's  gone  off  into  the  woods  sketch- 
57 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

ing.     Old  Lundquist  says  she  sketches  a  lot,  and 
rides,  and  shoots  at  marks." 

My  heart  sank.  I  sat  down  on  the  top  step. 
Wanza  seated  herself  on  the  piazza  railing. 
"Quiet  here,  isn't  it?"  she  said  musingly.  "I 
think  I'd  like  living  here.  It's  wild  and  free. 
Why,  the  village  just  seems  to  cramp  me  some 
times!  What's  that  funny  bird  making  that 
screeching  noise,  Mr.  Dale?  And  where  is 
he?" 

"In  the  pine  tree  yonder.  High  up  on  one  of 
the  topmost  branches.  That's  our  western 
wood  pewee,  Wanza.  Listen  and  you  will 
hear  the  true  pewee  note.  He  gives  it  occa- 
sionally. But  his  customary  note  is  a  very 
strident  unlovely  one,  almost  like  the  cry  a  hawk 
makes — there!  He  is  giving  his  pewee  call, 
now." 

We  sat  very  still,  listening.  "Pewee,  Pewee," 
the  bird  gave  its  sad,  plaintive  cry,  repeatedly. 

Presently  I  said:  "So  even  as  unconven- 
tional a  place  as  Roselake  village  makes  you 
restless,  does  it,  Wanza?" 

"I  should  say  so.  It's  the  people — and — and 
church !" 

"Church!" 

58 


THE  LEAD 

She  met  my  eyes  somberly.  "Going  to  church 
almost  kills  me.  It  does,  honest.  Hats  do, 
too." 

"Hats!" 

"Thinking  about  'em.  Seeing  'em  on  other 
people — in  front  of  you — at  church — knowing 
they  can't  afford  'em — but  wishing  you'd 
skimped  Dad  a  little  more  on  his  white  sugar  and 
got  a  better  one." 

I  laughed  outright.  Her  eyes  continued  to 
meet  mine  broodingly. 

"Why  don't  we  have  church  out  doors,  Mr. 
Dale?  And  why  don't  we  just  kneel  down  in 
our  work  clothes,  bare  headed?  I'd  like  to 
know!  The  trouble  with  church  is  that  we  only 
have  it  once  a  week  and  in  the  house.  If  we  had 
it  in  the  words  or  fields  and  we  didn't  go  dressed 
up — oh,  a  body'd  feel  so  much  nearer  to  heaven!" 

"The  woods  were  God's  first  temples,"  I  said 
gently. 

"I'd  like  to  go  to  church  in  the  woods,  and  to 
school  in  the  woods.  When  I  am  sick — even 
sick-hearted — the  out  of  doors  seems  to  cure  me, 
Mr.  Dale." 

"Nature  is  sanative,"  I  agreed. 

Her  eyes  fired.  "I  love  every  tree  and  every 
59 


shrub,  and  every  rose  and  every  trillium — yes, 
even  the  weeds — yarrow  ain't  so  bad !  It's  got  a 
fine  nutty  flavor,  hasn't  it  now?  I  love  the 
scarred  old  mountains,  and  I  love  the  dew  on  fine 
mornings,  and  the  sky  on  stormy  nights." 

"Heaven's  terrible  bonfires,  and  the  delicate 
rainbow  belt — the  purple  of  the  new  day,"  I 
murmured  dreamily. 

Wanza  drew  her  feet  up  beneath  her  gown, 
and  clasped  her  knees  with  her  hands.  Looking 
across  them  she  put  a  wistful  question:  "Does 
it  seem  long  to  you  since  you  were  a  little  boy, 
Mr.  Dale?'* 

"Rather  long,"  I  answered  drearily. 

"I  feel  still  as  if  I  was  a  little  girl.  Funny, 
ain't  it?  I  like  such  wee  things — flowers  and 
birds,  and  kittens  and  puppies." 

"You  seem  very  childlike,  Wanza — your  mind 
is  like  that  of  a  child — I  mean — you  think  like  a 
child."  Here  I  broke  off,  catching  an  indignant 
flash  in  her  eye. 

"How  do  you  know  I  think  like  a  child?  I 
may  act  like  one.  And  a  very  bad  one,  too,  some 
times!  I  don't  deny  that.  But  my  thoughts — 
well,  they  are  my  own!  I'd  be  willing  some 
times  to  have  them  child-thoughts."  She  sighed 
ponderously.  "Hm!  I  have  some  pretty 

60 


THE  LEAD 

grown-up  thoughts — and  worries,  times,  when 
I'm  all  alone." 

"I  intended  to  say,  Wanza  girl,  that  you  have 
a  young  soul — students  of  Oriental  literature 
tell  us  that  some  souls  are  younger  than  others." 

She  looked  at  me,  frowned,  bit  her  lip  and 
then  said  dryly:  "Do  they  know  more  about  it 
than  we  do?" 

"I  think  so,  child." 

"Oh,  all  right — I  don't  care!  So  long  as  I 
know  I've  got  a  soul  it's  enough  for  me." 

"There  are  people — do  you  know  it,  little 
girl? — who  doubt  the  existence  of  the  soul." 

"What?" 

Wanza  turned  on  me  so  quickly  that  she  al- 
most lost  her  balance  on  the  piazza  railing.  I 
repeated  my  remark. 

"They  don't  believe — they  don't  belie — why, 
David  Dale,  how  dare  you  sit  there  and  tell  me 
such  stuff  as  that!" 

"I  am  speaking  the  truth,  girl." 

"Did  you  ever  know  any  one  who  thought  that 
way?  Tell  me  that?" 

"Yes — one  or  two." 

"Where?" 

"At  college." 

"At  college !"  Wanza  gave  a  quick  twitter  of 
61 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

mirth.  "Well,  if  they  was  such  fools  as  that, 
why  did  they  waste  their  time  trying  to  learn 
anything." 

I  shook  my  head.  "I  cannot  answer  that, 
Wanza." 

"Why!  Couldn't  they  smell  the  flowers,  and 
see  the  birds — and  hear  'em,  and  look  up  at  the 
stars  at  night?" 

I  shook  my  head  again.  "One  would  think  so, 
child." 

"Perhaps  they  never  looked  down  at  the 
flowers,  or  up  at  the  birds,  or  higher  up  at  the 
stars." 

"Perhaps  not." 

"Law!"  Disgust  was  painted  on  her  speak- 
ing face.  "I  knew  there  was  all  kinds  of  people 
in  the  world! — siwashs,  and  cannibals,  and 
heathen  as  never  had  a  chance — but  I  never  knew 
before  that  there  was  educated  white  men  who 
didn't  believe  folks  has  got  souls."  She  un- 
cramped  her  knees,  let  her  feet  down  until  they 
touched  the  floor,  and  rose  to  her  full  height, 
stretching  her  arms  high  over  her  head.  Stand- 
ing thus,  she  raised  her  face  and  closed  her  eyes, 
I  saw  her  lips  move. 

Still  maintaining  her  position  she  whispered 
presently : 

62 


THE  LEAD 

"Even  with  my  eyes  shut — not  being  able  to 
see  anything — I  can  feel  God!" 

And  this  was  Wanza — simple,  ignorant 
Wanza !  whom  I  aspired  to  teach. 

We  sat  on  the  steps,  side  by  side  till  sundown, 
waiting  for  the  mistress  of  the  cabin  to  appear. 
But  she  did  not  come.  And  in  the  twilight 
Wanza  and  I  paddled  back  through  the  narrow 
lead,  and  parted  where  it  joins  the  river.  Her 
song  floated  back  to  me  as  I  swept  along  in  my 
canoe, — an  old,  old  song  I  had  often  heard  my 
father  sing: 

"Wait  for  me  at  heaven's  gate — Sweet  Bell  Mahone." 

In  the  east  I  saw  the  thin  curve  of  the  new 
moon ;  the  departing  sun  had  left  the  west  purple 
and  gold,  the  water  was  streaked  with  color.  I 
heard  the  whistle  of  the  thrush,  and  the  weird, 
"Kildee-Kildee"  of  the  Kildeer  from  the  marshy 
shore  of  the  lake.  The  hour  was  rich  with 
charm.  Old  Indian  legends  leaped  to  my  mind 
as  the  fascinating  "Kildee-Kildee"  note  con- 
tinued. I  thought  of  myself  as  a  little  chap 
listening  to  Leather  Stocking  bed-time  tales  told 
to  me  by  my  father,  while  I  lay  watching  with 
charmed  eyes  the  shadow  of  the  acacia  tree 
on  the  opposite  wall.  Memories  stirred.  My 

63 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

throat  tightened.  Before  I  could  grip  my 
thoughts  and  turn  them  aside  to  safer  channels, 
tears  rolled  down  my  cheeks.  "Dad,  Dad,"  I 
whispered,  over  and  over,  as  if  he  might  hear 
me,  "anything  for  you — anything!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

CAPTAIN   GRIF 

WANZA'S  father  had  always  been  an 
interesting  personality  to  me.     He 
was    a   portly,    ponderous-speaking 
man,  with  a  rubicund  visage,  a  twinkling  eye,  and 
a  jovial  smile.     There  was  a  humourous  twist  to 
each  sentence  he  turned,  and  this  in  connection 
with  an  undeniable  stutter  made  conversation 
with  him  an  unending  source  of  joy. 

He  had  been  a  sea  captain  in  his  youth.  He 
could  spin  me  yarns  by  the  hour.  •  And  many  a 
snug  winter  evening  I  had  spent  in  the  little 
room  under  the  eaves  of  his  comfortable  cottage, 
listening  to  tales  of  the  high  seas,  and  songs  of 
the  rolling  main.  His  room  with  its  slanting 
ceiling,  its  built-in  bunks,  its  nautical  equipment 
of  compass  and  sextant,  charts  and  logbook  and 
maps,  smacked  pleasantly  of  the  sea;  and  when 
the  wind  roared  in  the  chimney  and  the  snow 
and  sleet  twanged  on  the  window  panes,  I  used 
to  shut  my  eyes  and  fancy  myself  aboard  the 

65 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

good  ship  Wanderer  bound  for  the  North  Seas. 

There  was  always  a  glass  on  the  table,  and  a 
bottle  of  home-made  root  beer  was  always  forth- 
coming, and  though  I  was  not  over  fond  of  this 
drink  a  glass  of  it  had  a  grateful  tang,  when  I 
drank  with  Old  Grif  Lyttle,  the  captain  of  the 
bonny  brig  Wanderer,  in  the  small  cubby  hole 
he  called  his  cabin. 

The  captain  invariably  wore  a  blue  jacket 
with  brass  buttons.  His  nether  garments  might 
be  what  one  would  call  shabby  and  uncouth,  but 
the  jacket  was  always  neatly  brushed,  the  but- 
tons burnished.  Wanza  was  like  the  Hebe  in 
Pinafore — she  kept  his  buttons  bright.  And  had 
he  owned  a  sword  to  polish  I  am  well  satisfied 
it  would  have  been  immaculate.  Wanza's  pride 
in  her  father  was  unbounded.  It  was  equaled 
only  by  his  pride  in  her. 

"The  smartest  gal — and  the  prettiest,"  he 
would  say,  "you'll  f-find  in  the  whole  state.  Jest 
like  her  dead  mother,  Mr.  Dale,  jest  like  her. 
Smart  as  a  s-sand  piper.  Named  herself — she 
did.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  that  now?" 
Here  he  would  pause  and  look  at  me  sharply. 
And  though  the  tale  was  a  familiar  one  to  me  I 
would  always  affect  deep  interest  and  bid  him 
proceed.  "It  was  this  a-way,"  he  would  con- 

66 


CAPTAIN  GRIP 

tinue,  "when  her  mother  was  my  sweetheart, 
being  of  a  fanciful  turn,  and  with  a  decided 
hankerin'  after  me, — as  was  to  be  expected, 
when  I  was  gone  for  months  on  the  sea  and 
every  thing  uncertain  like, — she  called  me  her 
wanderer.  I  was  her  wanderer,  and  her  wander- 
ing boy,  and  finally  her  wandering  husband.  So 
when  I  got  my  ship  at  last  it  was  natural — al- 
though I  was  in  favor  of  naming  the  craft  after 
her — for  us  to  decide  that  the  name  should  be. 
The  Wanderer.  In  due  time  Wanza  was  born. 
Well,  it  had  been  easy  enough  naming  the  ship, 
but  there  warnt  no  name  good  enough  for  the 
babe!  'Let  her  alone/  I  used  to  say,  'she's  a 
s-smart  child,  she'll  name  herself.'  And  sure 
enough  when  she  was  old  enough  to  prattle  she 
began  calling  herself  Wanzer,  from  hearing  her 
mother  and  me  speak  of  the  craft,  sir.  I  reckon 
sometimes  hearing  us  call  it  endearin'  titles  she 
thought  we  was  referrin'  to  her  baby  ship.  At 
least  my  wife  she  allowed  as  much.  Howsoever, 
from  Wanzer  she  got  it  changed  to  Wanza,  and 
my  wife  allowed  that  Wanza  was  a  genteel 
enough  name,  so  we  stuck  by  it." 

The  small,  four-roomed  cottage  where  Wanza 
and  her  father  lived  was  at  the  edge  of  the  village. 
It  stood  on  a  slight  rise  of  ground,  overlooking 

67 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

the  lake.  From  the  narrow  front  porch  one 
could  look  abroad  and  see  fertile  fields,  stretches 
of  smooth,  glossy  meadow  land,  and  the  craggy 
grey-blue  mountains  in  the  distance.  In  sum- 
mer Grif  Lyttle  could  be  found  customarily  on 
his  porch.  And  it  was  here  I  discovered  hirn> 
when  in  my  new  restlessness  I  thought  of  him  and 
wondering  how  he  fared,  sought  him  out. 

He  made  me  welcome.  His  ruddy  face  broke 
into  smiles  at  the  sight  of  me,  and  he  rose  from 
his  rocker,  and  shoved  me,  with  a  playful  poke 
in  the  ribs,  into  the  seat  he  had  vacated,  saying: 

"By  golly,  ship-mate,  I  thought  you'd  passed 
me  up  for  good  and  all." 

He  sat  down  in  a  red-cushioned  Boston  rocker 
opposite  me.  A  small  table  stood  between  us, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  gave  me  a  sly  wink,  and 
whisked  off  a  white  cloth  that  covered  a  tray  that 
reposed  there.  A  bottle  and  two  glasses  stood 
revealed,  a  plate  of  pretzels,  and  one  of  cheese 
cakes. 

"My  lunch,"  he  explained.  "That  is  to  say — 
our  lunch,  boy." 

"But  you  thought  I  had  passed  you  by.  The 
extra  glass  is  not  for  the  likes  of  me.  Come  now 
— whom  do  I  rob?" 

"It's  Father  O'Shan  from  the  Mission. 
68 


CAPTAIN  GRIF 

Here's  to  him!  He's  an  hour  late,  and  the  man 
who  is  an  hour  late  had  better  not  come  at  all." 

"Not  if  he  comes  for  cakes  and  ale,"  I  assented, 
biting  into  a  cheese  cake  with  relish. 

"No — nor  if  he  comes  for  nothing.  Punctu- 
ality is  my  hobby.  Yes,  it  be,  s-ship-mate. 
There's  twice  the  spice  to  an  adventure  if  it's 
pulled  off  when  it  should  be.  Cool  your  heels 
fifteen  minutes,  or  a  half  hour,  waiting  for  the 
party  of  the  second  part,  and  you  don't  give  a — 
ahem! — what  becomes  of  the  expedition.  Yes, 
sir!  the  keen  whet  has  gone  if  you  have  to  wait 
over  long  for  the  other  fellow.  That  chap  is  a 
borrowin' — no!  he's  stealin'  your  time.  And  I 
don't  borrow — and  I  don't  like  to  lend — and  you 
can't  respect  a  thief.  So  there  you  are!"  He 
looked  at  me,  grinned  mendaciously,  and  con- 
tinued: "The  other  fellow  gets  the  cream  of  the 
whole  adventure.  He's  probably  takin'  a  drink 
with  some  other  old  crony  while  you're  waitin'." 

"But  that  doesn't  apply  in  this  case,"  I  re- 
minded him,  calmly  helping  myself  to  another  of 
Wanza's  delicious  cheese  cakes. 

"Not  in  this  case.  No,  sir!  Father  O' Shan's 
probably  been  held  up  by  some  one  with  a  long- 
winded  yarn  of  how  the  poor  wife's  adyin'  of 
consumption,  and  the  kids  of  starvation.  The 

69 


Father's  heart's  that  s-soft  he'd  s-strip  the  coat 
from  his  hack  to  give  it  to  a  beggar." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  well  know  that.  Wanza  has 
told  me  as  much." 

"Wanza  knows  she  hasn't  any  better  friends 
than  Father  O'Shan  and  the  sisters  at  the  old 
Mission  up  De  Smet  way."  The  smiling  face 
lengthened,  he  filled  his  pipe  fromJhe  tobacco  jar 
at  his  elbow,  and  tamped  down  the  weed  with  a 
broad  forefinger.  "Wanza's  a  high  strung  girl, 
Mr.  Dale,  she's  peppery,  and  she's  headstrong, 
but  Sister  Veronica  can  do  almost  anything  with 
her,  ay!  since  the  time  when  I  brought  her  out 
to  the  river  country  with  me,  -a  poor,  sick,  wee, 
motherless  lass,  pretty  nigh  sixteen  years  ago. 
She's  larned  all  she  knows  of  the  sisters  about 
cooking  and  sewing  and  the  like." 

"And  we  know  that  is  considerable,"  I  said. 

"She's  quite  some  cook,  I  make  no  doubt. 
There  ain't  much  Wanza  don't  know  about  a 
house." 

"How  do  you  manage  during  Wanza's  busy 
season  when  she  is  absent  so  much  in  her  cart? 
She  seems  to  be  a  very  busy  saleswoman  these 
days,"  I  remarked. 

"Well,  the  days  are  lonesome  like.  But  she's 
hardly  ever  gone  more'n  a  night  or  two  at  a  time 

70 


CAPTAIN  GRIF 

— the  gal  never  neglects  her  old  dad.  Once  a 
week  she  tidies  and  bakes  regular.  I  am  used 
to  bachin'  it  too,  it  seems  natural  to  cook  vittles, 
and  sweep — jest  like  old  times.  I  allow  it's 
great.  The  most  bothersome  thing  I  have  to  do 
now-a-days  is  'tendin'  the  flowers.  Wanza's  got 
such  a  posy  garden  it  sure  gets  to  be  a  nuisance 
some  days  when  my  joints  be  stiff er  than  com- 
mon." 

He  chuckled  and  waved  in  the  direction  of  the 
garden  plot  at  the  side  of  the  house.  "Not  but 
what  I  take  a  pride  in  it  myself,"  he  added  as  he 
caught  my  interested  and  not  wholly  unapprecia- 
tive  glance. 

To  glance  at  Wanza's  garden  was  to  receive  a 
dizzying  impression  of  pink  and  white  bloom, 
pranked  round  by  shining  smooth  rocks  of  uni- 
form size  and  whiteness.  The  flash  and  dazzle 
of  it  struck  blindingly  on  the  eyes.  It  was 
Wanza-like.  I  got  up,  descended  the  porch 
steps,  and  went  to  the  garden,  the  better  to 
inspect  its  glamour  and  richness.  Rows  of  pink 
holly -hocks,  clusters  of  sweet  William,  trellises  of 
sweet  peas,  fluffy  red  peonies,  pink  and  white 
poppies  bordering  beds  of  tea  roses  breathed  of 
Wanza.  And  yet — the  wild  things  at  Cedar 
Dale  pleased  her  best,  I  knew. 

71 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Captain  Lyttle  seemed  to  be  reading  my 
thoughts,  for  he  said  facetiously : 

"It's  a  fairly  purty  garden,  to  my  notion,  but 
there  ain't  anything  in  it  as  good  as  the  swamp 
laurel  and  lupine  at  Cedar  Dale,  accordin'  to 
Wanza.  She  don't  hold  by  cultivated  flowers  no 
more,  she  says.  Give  her  the  wood-flowers  as 
grows  wild  and  hides  away,  she  says.  And 
that  reminds  me,  Mr.  Dale,  I  got  that  bird  you 
give  her  at  Christmas  on  my  hands,  too.  'Poor 
old  Dad,'  she  says,  'will  have  him  for  company. 
He's  mine/  she  says,  'he's  mine.  But,  Dad, 
what's  mine  is  yours.'  Meanin'  I'm  to  take  care 
'o  him."  He  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 
"Come  along  in  to  Wanza's  room  and  have  a  look 
at  him." 

I  was  getting  new  side  lights  on  Wanza's  char- 
acter to-day.  Even  her  room  was  an  elucidation. 
It  was  small,  with  a  long  narrow  window  on  the 
south  side  and  a  door  that  opened  into  the  garden. 
The  walls  were  bright  with  gay  sprigged  paper, 
the  bed  was  white  as  a  snow  heap,  the  curtain  at 
the  window  was  spotless  and  looped  with  pink 
ribbon.  Wood-work  and  floor  were  painted 
green,  also  the  wooden  bed  and  small  dresser. 
There  was  a  green  tissue  paper  shade  on  the  lamp 
on  the  table;  and  green  paper  rosettes  were 

72 


CAPTAIN  GRIF 

wreathed  around  cheap  prints  and  fastened  with 
gilt  headed  tacks  to  the  walls.  But  in  spite  of 
its  tawdriness  the  room  had  a  fragrance  of 
lavender,  a  nicety  that  was  comforting.  It  was 
a  little  girl's  room.  Indeed,  I  spied  a  fat-faced 
wax  doll  in  one  corner  seated  on  a  balloon-like 
pink  silk  cushion;  and  on  a  shelf  with  an  impos- 
sible beaded  lambrequin  stood  a  Dresden-china 
lamb  and  a  wax  cupid  in  a  glass  case. 

The  canary's  cage  hung  in  the  window,  clouded 
in  folds  of  pink  mosquito  bar.  But  the  canary 
itself  was  on  the  limb  of  a  flowering  currant  bush 
outside  the  window.  I  chirruped  to  it,  but  it 
contented  itself  with  chirruping  back,  and  I  left 
it  unmolested.  As  I  looked  around  the  room 
again  my  eye  was  arrested  by  a  snap-shot  picture 
of  Joey  and  myself  framed  in  bark  and  covered 
with  the  inevitable  pink  mosquito  netting,  stand- 
ing on  a  small  table  at  the  head  of  Wanza's  bed. 
Above  it  on  the  wall  hung  a  Christmas  card  I  had 
given  Wanza,  bearing  Tiny  Tim's  message  "God 
bless  us  every  one." 

Grif  Lyttle  evinced  considerable  pride  as  he 
showed  me  the  room.  His  genial  face  beamed, 
and  his  eyes  shone  as  he  looked  about  him  from 
the  green  rosettes  to  the  beaded  lambrequin  and 
back  to  me. 

73 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Snug  little  nest,  eh?"  he  hazarded.  Meeting 
my  appraising  eye  his  face  twisted  into  an 
odd  look  of  whimsical  interrogation.  "Some 
girl — what?  Know  any  finer — ever  see  a  pret- 
tier?" 

"No,"  I  answered. 

"Nowhere?" 

"No." 

"Ever  eat  after  a  better  cook?" 

"Certainly  I  never  have." 

"Ever  expect  to?" 

"No." 

He  gave  his  booming  laugh,  and  led  the  way 
to  the  porch. 

"Right-o,  ship-mate!  Have  another  glass 
now,  and  we'll  drink  to  the  gal's  health,  and  finish 
the  cheese  cakes." 

Passing  along  the  main  street  of  the  village 
some  two  hours  later,  I  saw  Father  O'Shan, 
climbing  out  of  a  ramshackle  gig  at  the  door  of 
the  post-office.  I  went  up  to  him  and  placed  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  saying: 

"Good  afternoon,  Father  O'Shan,  I  want  to 
confess." 

His  fine,  ascetic  face  turned  round  to  me  with 
a  wave  of  quick  sympathy  overspreading  it ;  then 
when  he  saw  who  it  was  who  had  accosted  him 

74 


CAPTAIN  GRIP 

he  laughed,  a  musical,  clear-timbred  peal,  good  to 
hear. 

"I  have  eaten  your  cheese  cakes,"  I  vouch- 
safed. 

He  wrung  my  hand.  "Good!  Captain  Grif 
doesn't  have  much  sympathy  with  the  delinquent. 
I  fancy  his  comments  were  characteristic."  A 
shadow  fell  athwart  his  face.  "I  was  called  to 
the  bedside  of  a  sick  man — a  dying  man — a  home- 
steader. He  is  dying  in  poverty  and  distress — 
alone — but  for  me,  yonder  in  the  mountains." 

My  mood  veered  suddenly.  "I  know  the  man 
— if  I  can  help, — "  I  began,  and  stumbled  on; 
"In  like  straits  I  may  find  myself,  some  day." 

I  felt  my  shoulder  pressed.  "No,  David  Dale. 
Not  you!  Will  you  walk  with  me  a  way?"  he 
asked  abruptly. 

I  turned  with  him  and  we  left  the  dusty  street, 
and  took  the  road  that  bordered  the  river.  Al- 
ready the  sun  was  slipping  behind  the  western 
mountains,  and  the  water  ran  rainbow-colored, 
between  its  high,  shelving  banks.  Father  O'Shan 
took  off  his  hat  and  bared  his  head  to  the  breeze 
that  was  springing  up. 

"A  day  for  gods  to  stoop — ay,  and  men  to 
soar,"  he  quoted,  favoring  me  with  his  warm 
smile.  "I've  had  a  hard  day,  Dale,  a  hard  day." 

75 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  think  I  have  never  seen  so  rare  a  face  as  his. 
Rugged  and  yet  womanly  sensitive  and  fine. 
He  was  a  man  ten  years  my  senior,  I  dare  say, 
and  in  his  glance  there  was  something  gripping 
and  compelling,  something  at  once  stern  and 
gentle,  whimsical  and  austere. 

"A  hard  day — but  you've  been  equal  to  it, 
Father  O'Shan,"  I  cried  impulsively.  "When 
the  day  comes  that  I  am  broken  in  health,  and  old 
and  friendless,  I  shall  ask  for  no  other  physician, 
no  truer  companion,  no  more  sympathetic  as- 
suager  of  pain  than  you." 

I  grinned  sheepishly  as  I  spoke,  but  my  com- 
panion answered  earnestly: 

"You  speak  as  if  you  expected  always  to  re- 
main in  your  small  corner,  Dale.  If  I  could 
prophesy  I  would  say  two  years  hence  will  not 
find  you  here." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  we  walked  on  in  silence 
for  awhile. 

"You  may  marry,"  he  was  beginning,  but  at 
the  black  cloud  apparent  on  my  face  he  caught 
himself  up,  saying:  "I  can't  believe  you  have  no 
future  ahead  of  you,  man."  He  went  on, 
gravely:  "Dale,  I  want  to  be  assured  that  you 
look  upon  me  as  a  friend.  We  know  each  other 

76 


CAPTAIN  GRIF 

rather  well,  and  I  think  we  find  each  other  con- 
genial. We  have  had  some  rather  interesting 
arguments  during  our  jovial  evenings  with 
Captain  Grif.  At  first  I  thought  you  were  a 
genius.  But  I  know  you  better  now.  I  have 
studied  you.  You're  normal,  splendidly  bal- 
anced, healthy,  resistant.  You're  clever  and 
plodding — you'll  make  good.  But  you  are  not  a 
genius.  I  like  you  immensely.  Certain  things 
I  have  gathered  from  Wanza  make  me  feel  that 
at  times  you  need  a  friendly  hand — that  you  are 
breasting  treacherous  currents,  even  now. 
Come,  Dale,  I'd  be  your  friend." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  mine  went  out  to  meet 
it  and  we  struck  palms  warmly.  I  said  then : 

"I  have  not  been  a  black  sheep.  It's  a  shadow 
on  my  past  that  keeps  me  here,  of  course.  But 
the  story  is  not  my  own — it  must  be  kept  in- 
violate. But  my  present  troubles  and  ambitions 
are  for  your  ear — if  you  will  have  them.  There's 
my  sordid,  pinching  poverty — you  know  of  that 
— and — I  am  writing  a  book — " 

He  caught  his  lip  between  his  teeth;  his  eyes 
flashed  at  me ;  he  appraised  me. 

"What  sort  of  book?" 

"A  novel.  A  story  with  a  strong  nature 
77 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

atmosphere.  Someway  I  feel  it  will  be  a  suc- 
cess." 

"Good!  Success  to  you.  Success  to  you — 
and  Wanza." 

"Wanza!"  I  cried,  starting  uncontrollably. 
"What  has  she  to  do  with  it?  Wanza — that 
child?"  I  finished  smilingly. 

"A  child,  is  she?"  He  came  to  a  halt  in  front 
of  me.  "David  Dale,  be  careful  in  your  dealings 
with  that  child.  Forgive  me — I  asked  you  to 
bear  me  company  that  I  might  say  this  to  you. 
Be  careful." 

"But  I  do  not  understand,"  I  parried. 

He  said  nothing  more,  meeting  my  eyes 
gravely  and  extending  his  hand.  And  so  we 
parted.  And  I  went  home  and  smiled  to  myself 
over  his  last  words  as  I  reviewed  them.  No  one 
so  well  as  I  knew  what  an  incorrigible  child 
Wanza  was.  I  thought  of  the  wax  doll  on  the 
pink  silk  cushion  and  was  convinced. 

Father  O'Shan  was  the  first  person  to  whom 
I  had  confided  my  ambition  concerning  the  novel 
I  was  engaged  on.  I  had  labored  at  it  many 
months.  It  was  progressing  satisfactorily  to  me. 
By  autumn  I  hoped  to  complete  it.  I  had  a  fond 
hope  that  Christmas  would  find  it  sold  to  the 
publishing  firm  in  the  East  to  whom  I  proposed 

78 


CAPTAIN  GRIF 

to  send  it.  If  it  sold — if  it  sold! — my  plan  was 
to  support  myself  and  Joey  by  the  sale  of  my 
cedar  chests  and  wood  carvings  until  I  could 
make  good  in  the  world  of  literature. 


79 


CHAPTER  VII 

WANZA  BAKES  A   CAKE 

ONE  sunny  afternoon  in  the  following 
week  I  again  took  my  canoe  and  slipped 
down  the  river  to  the  small  aperture  in 
the  willows.  This  time  I  did  not  hesitate,  but 
entered  the  lead  boldly.  And  I  was  no  sooner 
afloat  upon  the  green-fringed  waterway  than  my 
temerity  was  rewarded.  A  canoe  appeared 
around  a  bend  ahead  of  me,  and  in  the  craft  sat 
Haidee  plying  the  paddle.  She  was  almost  a 
dazzling  vision  as  she  approached  me.  She  was 
in  white,  and  the  shadows  were  green  all  about 
her,  and  the  ribband  snood  on  her  head  was  blue, 
and  blue  flowers  were  heaped  around  her  feet. 
When  she  saw  me  she  called  out:  "Have  you 
forgotten  that  you  were  to  send  me  Wanza 
Lyttle?"  and  there  was  an  amused  light  in  her 
brilliant  eyes. 

In  my  confusion  I  stammered  and  was  unable 
to  make  a  coherent  reply,  and  after  a  quick 
glance  at  my  face,  she  exclaimed : 

80 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

"Never  mind!     I  have  seen  her  for  myself." 

"You  have  seen  her?" 

"Yes.  I  rode  into  Roselake  village  this  morn- 
ing and  enquired  right  and  left  for  Miss  Lyttle. 
Every  one  smiled  and  said:  'Who?  Wanza?' 
Then  I  met  her  in  her  cart  on  the  river  road.  I 
knew  her  by  the  green  umbrella."  Haidee 
paused  and  ruminated,  wrinkling  her  brows.  "I 
know  why  she  lined  her  umbrella  with  pink." 

"Well,"  I  cried,  disregarding  the  seeming 
irrelevance,  "is  she  coming  to  stay  with  you? 
That's  the  main  thing." 

"She's  asked  for  a  week  or  so  in  which  to  con- 
sider. But — yes,  I  think  she's  coming  to  stay 
with  me." 

I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Then  that's 
settled." 

She  went  on  evenly:  "Now  that  you  have 
found  the  waterway  I  hope,  very  often,  after  I 
have  secured  the  services  of  that  distracting  girl 
of  the  green  umbrella — when  I  am  lonely — and 
you  are  lonely  too — you  will  take  your  canoe  and 
seek  us  out.  Not,"  she  amended  quickly,  "that 
I  mind  my  solitude.  All  my  life  I  have  hun- 
gered for  the  quiet  places.  But  I  must  confess 
I  have  an  eerie  feeling — at  times — on  moonless 
nights — and  sometimes  just  at  twilight — and  al- 

81 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

ways  when  a  coyote  howls  in  the  night."  Her 
bright  face  clouded,  then  she  shrugged.  "Never 
mind!  We  all  have  our  haunted  hours.  In  the 
daytime  I  am  gloriously  happy  and  carefree.  I 
take  my  mare  and  follow  any  casual,  wee  road  I 
can  find.  I  sketch  in  the  woods,  and  along  the 
river.  I  tramp  too,  and  climb  the  hills.  But 
Sonia,  my  mare,  and  I  are  good  company.  I 
have  hired  that  funny  bent  man  who  lives  back 
on  the  mountain  to  take  care  of  my  mare  for  me." 

"Lundquist  ?"  I  asked,  quickly. 

"Yes.  He  has  been  very  neighborly,"  she 
replied,  with  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 
She  smiled,  meeting  my  eyes,  and  I  said  quickly : 
"I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  call  on  you  and 
Wanza.  I  can  understand  how  one  not  accus- 
tomed to  solitude  would  find  the  environs  of  Hid- 
den Lake  depressing." 

Her  face  grew  thoughtful.  "I  have  been 
wondering  lately  what  attracted  me  so  strongly 
to  the  place.  It  is  a  drab,  unlikely  spot,  I  know. 
The  lake  is  like  a  black  tarn  at  night,  the  dense 
growth  of  cedars  and  pines  is  repellant,  at  times. 
In  the  moonlight  the  trees  stand  up  so  threaten- 
ing and  ghostly.  And  when  the  wind  blows  they 
wave  gaunt,  bearded  arms  abroad  as  if  warning 
the  too  venturesome  wayfarer  against  intruding 

82 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

here.  I  have  roughhewn  my  life,  Mr.  Dale,  but 
I  must  believe  some  force  beyond  me  is  shaping 
it.  I  have  been  fascinated  against  my  better 
judgment  by  Hidden  Lake!  I  had  to  pitch  my 
tent  here,  for  a  time!  I  had  no  choice." 

It  seemed  a  strange  confession.  All  at  once 
a  question  leaped  to  my  lips,  and  I  spoke  hur- 
riedly : 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something  of  your- 
self— where  your  home  is — your  real  home!" 

"My  real  home?" 

"I  can  picture  you  with  surroundings  better 
suited  to  you.  Even  I  say  to  myself,  'God  grant 
that  this  be  not  my  house  and  my  homestead, 
but  decree  it  to  be  only  the  inn  of  my  pain.' ' 

The  quick  carmine  stained  her  cheeks.  She 
lifted  the  blue  flowers  and  held  them,  plucking 
nervously  at  the  petals.  Then  she  looked  up  at 
me,  and  uttered  something  like  a  little  cry  of 
scorn.  "Why,  it's  a  painter's  paradise — in  spite 
of  the  loneliness  that  abounds!  Can't  you  see 
that?" 

"I  can  see  that,  of  course,"  I  answered. 

"And  I  am  an  artist.  So  you  are  answered. 
Years  ago,  with  my  father,  who  had  mining  in- 
terests in  this  section,  I  spent  one  whole  summer 
on  the  Swiftwater,  painting.  Since  then  I  have 

83 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

hungered  to  get  back  to  this  adorable  river  coun- 
try. I  have  always  wanted  a  painting  retreat  in 
this  marvelous  lake- jeweled  meadow-land,  where 
the  mountains  shift  and  merge  their  colors,  and 
the  rivers  have  such  cameo-like  reflections.  No 
matter  where  I  may  wander,"  she  went  on  with 
enthusiasm,  "I  shall  always  be  glad  of  this  place 
of  inspiration  to  work  in  and  dream  in — I  don't 
look  upon  it  as  a  permanent  habitation,  simply  as 
a  delightful  camp  in  the  wilderness  I  love." 

Paddling  home  I  recalled  Haidee's  enthusiasm 
with  a  smile.  And  then  I  bethought  me  that  she 
had  not  after  all  told  me  the  slightest  thing  con- 
cerning herself  or  any  recent  home. 

Some  two  hours  later  as  I  bent  over  the  stove 
in  the  kitchen,  intent  on  frying  some  thick  slices 
of  cornmeal  mush  for  Joey's  supper,  I  heard  the 
whir  and  grind  of  wheels  and  the  creaking  of  har- 
ness through  the  open  window.  I  glanced  out. 
A  buckskin  pony  and  two-wheeled  cart  were 
skirting  the  ploughed  field  and  approaching  the 
cabin.  I  glimpsed  a  familiar  figure  beneath  the 
pink  glow  of  the  lining  of  the  green  umbrella. 
When  the  buckskin  pony  was  near  enough  for  me 
to  see  the  green  paper  rosettes  on  its  harness,  I 
called  out  to  Joey,  who  was  laying  the  table  in 
the  front  room : 

84 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

"Put  on  another  plate,  lad.  Wanza  is  com- 
ing." 

Something  was  amiss  with  Joey.  His  face 
had  displayed  unmistakable  signs  of  perturbation 
during  the  day,  and  there  was  something  in- 
finitely pathetic  about  the  droop  of  his  brown 
head,  usually  held  so  gallantly.  I  had  thought 
best  to  disregard  his  melancholy  attitude,  know- 
ing that  bed-time  would  bring  an  unburdening 
of  his  heart.  In  response  to  my  announcement, 
he  gave  a  fairly  frenzied  shriek  of  joy. 

"Good — eel"  he  shouted,  with  such  a  clatter  of 
hob  nails  as  he  crossed  to  the  cupboard  that  I 
could  picture  in  my  mind  the  jig  steps  that  car- 
ried him  thither.  "There's  a  wee  bit  of  molasses 
in  the  jug,"  he  called  to  me,  "I  was  saving  it  for 
taffy — you  said  I  might.  I'll  just  put  it  on. 
And  the  spring  is  'most  full  of  cress,  Mr.  David, 
— I'll  scoot  out  and  get  a  panful  before  she  gets 
here." 

He  was  off  like  a  flash  through  the  kitchen  to 
the  spring  as  Wanza  entered  by  the  front  door. 

I  went  to  meet  her.  I  found  her  standing  in 
the  centre  of  the  living  room.  The  door  was 
open  behind  her,  and  her  hair  was  like  a  pale 
silver  flame  in  the  light.  As  I  drew  near  to  her 
I  saw  that  her  cheeks  were  splashed  with  crimson, 

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THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

her  eyes  dark  with  some  tempestuous  stress  of 
feeling.  There  was  something  unfriendly  in  her 
bearing.  But  I  held  out  my  hand  and  cried 
blithely: 

"You  are  just  in  time  to  have  a  bite  of  supper 
with  us,  Wanza.  We  heard  the  rattle  of  your 
cart,  and  Joey  has  gone  to  the  spring  for  cress." 

She  met  my  glance  dourly.  Her  brows  came 
together  and  she  ignored  my  outstretched  hand. 

"Mr.  David  Dale,"  she  said  with  great  dignity, 
"perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but  it's  my  opinion  you've 
forgotten  what  day  it  is." 

I  smiled  into  the  sullen  face.  "Oh,  no,"  I  said 
airily,  "I  have  not  forgotten!  To-day  is  wash 
day — therefore  Monday." 

"Yes,  and  whose  birthday  is  it,  Mr.  Dale?" 

I  stared  at  her. 

"Whose  birthday,  whose?  Just  his — his — as 
never  had  a  birthday  that's  known  of!  Except 
that  you  vowed  he  should  keep  a  day  for  his  own 
every  year,  and  named  a  day  for  him,  which  I 
thought  you  meant  to  keep  sacred  as  Christmas, 
'most." 

A  light  dawned  on  me.  Some  years  before 
Wanza  and  I  had  decided  that  Joey  must  keep 
one  day  each  year  as  his  birthday;  and  I  had 
dedicated  the  fifth  of  June  to  my  little  lad ;  plan- 

86 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

ning  to  keep  each  fifth  of  June  as  if  it  were 
indeed  the  anniversary  of  his  birth,  as  it  was  the 
anniversary  of  his  coming  to  me.  A  week  since 
I  had  bethought  me  of  this,  yes,  even  yesterday 
I  had  remembered  it.  But  to-day  I  had  visited 
a  charmed  spot,  I  had  seen  a  radiant  being,  I  had 
listened  to  a  seraphic  voice — I  had  forgotten.  I 
hung  my  head. 

Wanza  spoke  again.  "The  poor  boy,"  she 
said,  "poor  Joey!"  There  was  a  break  in  her 
accusing  tones.  "I  didn't  think  that  you'd  be 
the  one  to  forget  him,  Mr.  Dale." 

"I'm  ashamed  of  it,  Wanza,"  I  confessed. 
My  heart  turned  heavy  within  me.  I  felt  a 
traitor  to  my  trusting  lad  who  would  never  in  his 
most  opulent  moment  have  forgotten  me.  "I  am 
heartily  ashamed  of  it,"  I  repeated. 

After  an  uncomfortable  pause  I  ventured  to 
raise  my  eyes  from  the  floor.  I  saw  then  that 
Wanza's  arms  were  filled  with  mysterious 
weighty  looking  bundles.  As  I  would  have 
taken  them  from  her  she  shook  her  head,  then 
nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen. 

"You've  got  a  good  fire  going,  I  see.  Let's 
get  busy!  Split  up  some  good  dry  wood.  I 
want  a  hot  oven  in  ten  minutes.  I've  brought 
raisins  and  spices  and  brown  sugar — I'll  stir  up 

87 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

a  birthday  cake.  And  as  for  you — "  she  paused 
in  her  progress  kitchenward  to  favor  me  with  an 
ominous  frown — "as  for  you,  Mr.  David  Dale, 
don't  let  that  boy  know  you  went  and  forgot  his 
birthday  or — or  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again." 

She  passed  on  to  the  kitchen  and  I  seized  the 
ax  and  betook  myself  to  the  chopping  block.  I 
had  just  laid  my  hand  on  a  piece  of  resinous  wood 
when  I  heard  a  joyous  confused  babble  of 
tongues  in  the  kitchen  I  had  quitted.  Joey  had 
entered  by  the  front  door  and  shouted  Wanza's 
name  gleefully.  And  then  I  heard : 

'"Bless  your  old  heart!  Have  you  a  birthday 
kiss  for  Wanza?  Well  I  am  late  getting  round 
this  birthday — I  usually  come  at  noon,  don't  I, 
Joey? — but  better  late  than  never!  It's  getting 
too  hot  to  eat  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  We 
thought — Mr.  Dale  and  me — that  we  would 
change  the  doings  this  year.  We  didn't  want 
you  to  imagine,  Master  Joey,  that  we  couldn't 
think  up  anything  new  for  your  celebration. 
We  'lowed  as  how  you  were  getting  a  big  boy 
now,  and  would  like  more  grown  up  doings." 

Joey  responded  chivalrously: 

"You're  terrible  good  to  me,  Wanza.  I  like 
any  doings,  'most.  I'll  remember  this  birthday 
forever  and  ever,  I  know.  Why,  it's  been  the 

88 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

funniest  birthday!  Mr.  David  has  been  on  the 
river  'most  all  afternoon.  I  was  'most  sure  he'd 
forgot  what  day  it  was.  But  soon  as  I  heard 
your  cart,  Wanza,  I  knew  what  it  was — a  sur- 
prise party!  Like  folks  give  ministers.  And 
that  was  why  Mr.  David  would  not  let  on.  I 
guess  not  many  boys  have  spice  cake  on  their 
birthday,  and  can  help  bake  it,  too." 

I  heard  the  sound  of  a  kiss,  and  Wanza  saying 
in  a  choked  voice : 

"There's  a  bit  of  store  candy  in  that  brown 
paper  sack,  Joey.  My,  the  heat  of  the  oven 
smarts  my  eyes!  See,  Joey!  You  can  stone  the 
raisins  for  me  while  I  beat  the  eggs  for  the  frost- 
ing." 

"Of  course  Mr.  David  wouldn't  forget  my 
birthday,"  I  heard  my  loyal  lad  resume  as  I  stole 
forward  to  the  door  with  my  armful  of  wood, 
"I'm  'bout  the  same  as  his  boy,  ain't  I,  Wanza?" 

I  swung  open  the  door,  and  dropping  my  load 
of  wood  to  the  floor,  cried  cheerily : 

"Here's  the  wood  to  cook  the  boy's  birthday 
supper,  Wanza.  Come  and  give  me  a  hug,  Joey. 
I  think  you're  old  enough  to  have  a  few  nickels 
to  spend,  boy, — put  your  hand  in  my  pocket,  the 
pocket  where  we  keep  our  jack-knife.  There! 
What  do  you  find?" 

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THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"A  dollar,"  shrieked  Joey  with  bulging  eyes. 

"It's  yours,"  I  said. 

His  eyes  opened  wide,  gazed  incredulously  into 
mine ;  his  face  grew  white ;  and  then  tears  gushed 
forth.  "And  I  thought — I  thought  you'd  forgot 
my  birthday,"  he  sobbed. 

Wanza's  nose  was  pink  when  I  turned  to  hold 
the  oven  door  open  for  her.  But  her  eyes  were 
friendly,  and  her  full,  exquisite  lips  were  smiling. 

"It's  going  to  be  a  perfectly  grand  cake,"  she 
breathed. 

Joey  had  run  whooping  out  of  doors  to  bathe 
his  face  in  the  spring.  Emboldened  by  the  girl's 
smile  I  touched  her  smooth  round  cheek  lightly. 

"There's  a  tear  here  still,  Wanza,"  I  teased, 
though  my  voice  was  somewhat  husky.  "You're 
April's  lady — sunshine  and  shadow — tears  and 
laughter;  but  you're  a  good  girl,  Wanza,  a  fine 
staunch  friend  to  Joey  and  me.  Don't  hold  my 
thoughtlessness  of  to-day  against  me,  please." 

She  dashed  the  drop  away.  Her  cornflower 
blue  eyes  blazed  suddenly  into  mine. 

"I  'most  hated  you  a  little  while  ago,  Mr. 
David  Dale,  when  I  knew  why  you'd  forgotten 
poor  Joey's  birthday — "  she  hesitated,  then  re- 
peated defiantly,  "when  I  knew  why  you'd  for- 
gotten." 

90 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

"Now,"  I  said,  challenging  her,  "I  defy  you  to 
say  why  I  forgot  the  lad's  birthday." 

"And  I'll  tell  you  why.  Because  you're  think- 
ing so  much  about  the  woman  as  has  taken  old 
Russell's  cabin  you  haven't  got  time  to  remember 
other  folks.  Old  Lundquist  says  you  watch  her 
light  o'  nights  from  Nigger  Head." 

"Lundquist  is  a  meddlesome,  prying  old  idiot," 
I  cried  angrily. 

Seeing  me  aroused,  Wanza's  anger  cooled.  "I 
dare  say  he  is,"  she  admitted,  as  she  stepped 
to  the  oven  door.  "Why  should  you  be  taken 
with  a  creature  like  her,  I  should  like  to  know! 
Such  a  flabby,  white-faced,  helpless  moon- 
calf." 

She  laughed,  shut  the  oven  door,  straightened 
her  fine  shoulders  and  went  to  the  window  to  cool 
her  cheeks.  I  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  there, 
I  saw  her  smile  and  wave  her  hand  to  Joey,  who 
was  performing  sundry  ablutions  at  the  spring. 
She  was  wearing  a  collarless  pink  cotton  frock, 
spotless  and  fresh  as  water  and  starch  and 
fastidious  ironing  could  make  it ;  her  face  was  as 
ardent  as  a  flame,  her  eyes  glowed  deep  and  im- 
passioned, her  lips  were  smooth  as  red  rose  petals. 
Her  mop  of  fine,  blond  curls  was  massed  like  a 
web  of  silk  about  her  colorful  face.  I  looked  at 

91 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

her  with  appreciation.  But  as  I  looked  I  sighed. 
Hearing  my  sigh  she  gave  me  an  odd  glance,  then 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  before  me. 

"Mr.  Dale,"  she  said  soberly,  "I  am  sorry  I 
told  you  what  old  Lundquist  said.  I  allow 
you've  a  right  to  watch  a  light  on  Hidden  Lake 
if  you've  a  mind  to.  Look  ahere,  do  you  want 
I  should  go  and  stay  with  her?" 

"Why,"  I  replied,  "I  think  it  would  be  kind, 
Wanza." 

She  bit  her  lip,  shot  a  keen  glance  at  me,  and 
said  shortly: 

"Then  I'll  go,  as  soon  as  I  have  done  my  own 
house  cleaning." 

"You're  a  good  girl,  Wanza,"  I  said  again. 

She  turned  from  me,  sniffing  the  air.  "That 
cake's  about  done,  I'll  warrant.  Call  Joey,  Mr. 
Dale,  and  I'll  put  the  mush  on  the  table,  and  see 
to  the  icing." 

Somehow  the  meal  did  not  pass  off  with  the 
degree  of  festivity  I  had  hoped  for.  Wanza 
watched  me  from  under  her  thick  lashes  in  a  most 
disconcerting  manner  as  we  chatted  desultorily, 
and  my  little  lad  was  unusually  silent.  I  felt 
that  I  had  not  atoned  to  Joey  for  the  long, 
arduous  day  through  which  he  had  passed,  that  its 
memory  lay  like  a  shadow  over  the  present  gala 

92 


WANZA  BAKES  A  CAKE 

hour.     To  lighten  it  in  some  measure  I  ventured 
a  proposal. 

"Joey,"  I  said,  speaking  abruptly  as  a  silence 
threatened  to  engulf  us,  "how  would  you  like  to 
go  gipsying  with  me  for  a  few  days?" 

"Gipsying,"  Joey  repeated.  His  face  was 
illumined  as  he  caught  my  eye  and  partially 
sensed  my  meaning.  "Does  gipsying  mean 
living  in  a  covered  wagon,  Mr.  David,  and  cook- 
ing bacon  on  sticks  over  a  camp  fire?" 

I  nodded.  "All  that  and  more,  Joey.  It 
means  wonderful  things,  lad.  It  means  faring 
forth  into  the  greenwood  in  a  caravan  in  the 
rosy  dawn  of  a  summer  day,  finding  the  most 
alluring  trail  that  leads  to  the  most  secretive  of 
trout  streams,  lounging  in  the  shade  of  spreading 
trees  at  noon  time,  eating  a  snack  of  bread  and 
cheese,  poring  over  a  treasured  book  for  an  hour 
while  you  drowse  back  half  dreaming  to  all  the 
pleasant  happenings  of  your  youth.  Then  when 
it's  cooler  faring  on  again,  till  the  sun  begins  to 
drop  behind  the  mountains  and  hunger  seizes  you 
by  the  throat—" 

I  broke  off,  catching  sight  of  Joey's  rapt  face. 
It  was  radiant  and  eager  and  wistful  all  at  once. 

"Mr.  David,"  he  said,  pushing  back  his  plate, 
"let's  go!" 

93 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"If  you  don't  go  after  saying  what  you've  just 
said — "  Wanza  shook  her  head  at  me,  and  left 
her  sentence  unfinished. 

"I  could  not  have  found  it  in  my  heart  to  paint 
such  a  picture,  Wanza  girl,"  I  replied,  "had  I 
not  intended  to  give  Joey  the  opportunity  to 
compare  it  with  the  reality.  We  will  stretch  the 
old  tarpaulin  over  the  ranch  wagon  in  the  morn- 
ing, stow  away  some  bacon  and  cornmeal  and  a 
frying  pan,  harness  Buttons  to  the  caravan,  and 
go  out  into  the  greenwood  to  tilt  a  lance  with 
fortune." 

I  laughed  as  I  spoke ;  but  a  weariness  of  spirit 
that  I  had  been  struggling  all  the  evening  to 
combat  lay  heavily  upon  me.  Well,  would  it  be 
for  me,  I  said  to  myself,  to  get  away  from  Cedar 
Dale  for  a  few  days.  I  had  felt  an  impelling 
hunger  to  see  my  wonder  woman  again;  I  had 
been  restless  for  days  consumed  with  the  hunger ; 
now  I  had  seen  her,  and  a  new  strange  pain  had 
been  born  to  replace  the  former  craving.  I  was 
in  worse  stress  than  before. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GIPSYING 

IT  was  into  the  sunshine  of  a  cloudless  June 
morning  that  Joey  and  I  fared  in  quest  of 
adventure.  Our  caravan  was  well  pro- 
visioned with  necessities,  well  equipped  with 
cooking  utensils,  stocked  liberally  with  fishing 
tackle.  And  with  a  lively  rattle  and  bang — we 
rolled  out  on  to  the  river  road  and  wheeled  away 
at  a  goodly  pace.  I  held  the  reins  and  Joey 
alternately  piped  on  his  flute  and  sang  a  lusty 
song  about  a  "Quack  with  a  feather  on  his  back." 
Despite  the  depression  that  obsessed  me  my 
spirits  rose  as  we  went  on,  and  by  noon  when  we 
were  well  into  the  heart  of  the  deep  lush  woods 
beyond  Roselake,  I  am  sure  Joey  could  have  had 
no  cause  to  complain  of  the  gravity  of  his  com- 
panion. Surely  there  is  balm  for  wounded  souls 
in  the  solitude  of  the  greenwood.  We  found  a 
spot  where  bracken  waved  waist  high,  where  moss 
was  green-gold  and  flowers  were  sprouting  on 
rocks,  where  the  very  air  was  dreamful.  I  felt  a 

95 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

sudden  electrification.  My  feet  felt  young  and 
winged  again;  I  lost  all  desires,  all  hopes,  all 
fears ;  I  only  realized  that  I  was  unweighted.  In 
this  meeting  with  nature  I  was  stripped  and  un- 
hampered— unexpectedly  free  from  the  dragging 
bondage  of  the  past  few  days. 

We  were  on  the  mountain  side,  and  waters 
poured  down  into  the  valley  below  us,  waters  that 
hinted  of  trout.  Heights  were  to  left  and  right 
of  us,  the  sky  stretched  azure  blue  between,  all 
about  us  were  sequestered  nooks  where  singing 
brooks  played  in  and  out  among  the  green 
thickets. 

"Shall  we  camp  here,  Joey,"  I  asked,  marking 
the  satisfaction  on  his  face. 

"Oh,  Mr.  David,  I  was  'most  afraid  to  ask! 
Seems  as  if  we  hadn't  gone  far  enough.  I  should 
think  gipsies  would  camp  near  trout  streams, 
though." 

He  was  already  lifting  our  cooking  kit  from 
the  caravan,  his  small  brown  face  alert,  his  stout 
little  hands  trembling  with  their  eagerness  to  as- 
sist in  the  unloading.  We  gave  an  hour  to  mak- 
ing camp.  I  built  a  fire  between  two  flat  stones, 
and  Joey  filled  a  kettle  with  water  and  placed 
it  over  the  blaze,  while  I  put  my  trout  rod  to- 
gether, chose  a  fly  carefully  from  my  meagre 

96 


GIPSYING 

home-made  assortment  and  went  to  the  near-by 
stream. 

I  whipped  the  stream  carefully  for  half  an 
hour  and  succeeded  in  landing  a  half  dozen  trout. 
They  made  a  meal  fit  for  a  king.  And  afterward 
Joey  and  I  lay  on  the  grass  half  dozing  and 
watching  a  pair  of  violet-green  swallows  that 
had  a  nest  in  a  hole  in  a  cottonwood  tree  on  the 
bank  of  the  stream. 

"Don't  they  like  bird  houses?"  asked  the  small 
boy. 

"They  do,"  I  replied.  "They  will  welcome 
almost  any  tiny  opening.  They  will  go  through 
a  hole  in  any  gable  or  cornice.  They  are  indus- 
trious and  painstaking;  they  have  courage  and 
patience.  It  is  fine  to  have  courage  and  patience, 
Joey."  I  was  almost  asleep,  but  thought  it  well 
to  point  a  moral  while  I  had  his  ear. 

"What  can  you  do  with  those  two  things,  Mr. 
David,  dear?" 

"Almost  anything,  lad."  I  thought  of  Santa 
Teresa's  book-mark:  "Patient  endurance  at- 
taineth  to  all  things,"  and  I  clenched  my  hands 
involuntarily,  and  sat  up. 

"I  see — it's  going  to  be  a  story !" 

I  shook  my  head.  "It's  warm  for  stories. 
Try  to  rest,  Joey." 

97 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

He  lay  back  obediently,  and  a  hand  stole  out 
and  stroked  my  hand. 

"But,  what,  Mr.  David — what  can  you  do  with 
courage  and  patience?" 

The  question  came  again,  and  found  me  still 
unprepared. 

"What  would  you  say,  Joey?" 

"Well,"  the  clear,  light  tones  ran  on,  "if  you 
have  patience  you  can  make  things — like  cedar 
chests  and  tables  and  bird  houses;  you  can  fix 
things  too — same  as  you  do,  Mr.  David.  Fixing 
is  harder  than  making,  I  guess.  'Most  anybody 
can  make  things — perhaps — I  don't  know  for 
sure;  but  everybody  can't  fix  things,  like  you 
can." 

I  gripped  the  small  hand  hard. 

"What  about  courage,  Joey?" 

"Pooh!  that's  for  fighting  lions  and — and 
coyotes.  Every  big  man  can  kill  lions.  I'd 
liever  fix  boys'  toys.'* 

I  dozed  after  a  time,  and  from  a  doze  drifted 
into  refreshing  slumber.  I  awoke  to  see  silver 
shadows  drawing  in  around  me,  overhead  a  half 
lit  crescent  moon,  tender  colors  streaking  the 
mountains.  There  was  an  appetizing  smell  of 
cooking  on  the  air,  and  casting  my  eyes  about  I 
spied  Joey  very  red-faced  and  stealthy,  kneeling 

98 


GIPSYING 

beside  the  camp  fire,  holding  a  forked  stick  in 
his  hand  on  which  was  impaled  a  generous  strip 
of  sizzling  bacon.  I  saw  a  pan  of  well-browned 
potatoes  hard  by,  and  I  rose  on  my  elbow  pre- 
pared to  shout  "Grub-pile,"  after  the  fashion  of 
camp  cooks,  when  I  heard  a  strange,  sibilant 
sound  from  a  clump  of  aspens  on  the  other  side 
of  the  stream. 

I  listened.  Tinkle,  tinkle  went  the  stream; 
swish,  swish  whispered  the  aspens  and  young 
maples ;  but  surely  that  was  a  human  voice  dron- 
ing a  curious,  lazy  chant.  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  the 
aspen  thicket.  Presently  there  came  a  strange 
rustling,  a  vague  movement  beyond  the  leafy 
screen.  I  waited.  Soon  a  brown  hand  parted 
the  branches,  two  bright  eyes  peered  through. 
As  I  rose  to  my  feet  a  slight  wiry  figure  in  the 
fantastic  garb  of  a  gipsy  darted  from  the  bushes, 
leaped  the  stream,  and  sprang  into  the  little  clear- 
ing by  the  fire.  I  saw  a  brown  face,  poppy  red 
lips,  and  a  pair  of  dancing  eyes,  shadowed  by  hair 
black  as  midnight.  I  bent  a  sharp  scrutiny  upon 
the  intruder  as  she  stood  there  in  the  uncertain 
light,  but  with  a  petulant  movement  she  drew  the 
peaked  scarlet  cap  she  wore  lower  over  her  face, 
and  wrapped  the  long  folds  of  her  voluminous 
cape  more  closely  about  her. 

99 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Let  the  gipsy  cook  your  bacon,"  she  said  in 
an  odd  throaty  voice  to  Joey. 

Joey  with  big-eyed  wonder  relinquished  the 
forked  stick  and  dripping  bacon  strip,  and  the 
gipsy  tossed  back  her  cape,  freeing  her  arms,  and 
began  a  deft  manipulation  of  the  primitive  imple- 
ment, turning  it  round  and  round,  now  plunging 
it  almost  into  the  heart  of  the  fire,  now  drawing 
it  away  and  waving  it  just  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  leaping  flames.  When  I  drew  near  with  the 
coffee  pot  in  my  hand,  and  essayed  another  glance 
at  her  face,  it  was  too  dark  for  me  to  see  her 
features  plainly.  I  had  only  a  dizzying  glimpse 
of  wonderful  liquid  orbs,  white  teeth  and 
wreathed  berry-red  lips. 

When  the  meal  was  ready  she  ate  ravenously, 
almost  snatching  at  the  food  with  which  Joey 
plied  her.  The  light  from  the  fire  played  over 
her  picturesque  attire,  shone  in  her  eyes  and 
danced  on  the  tawdry  ornaments  she  wore.  She 
had  seated  herself  with  her  back  against  a  log; 
her  cape  had  fallen  away,  disclosing  a  coarse 
white  blouse  and  short  skirt  of  green;  about  her 
slim  waist  she  wore  a  sash  of  red.  In  her  ears 
were  hoops  of  gold ;  each  time  she  tossed  her  head 
they  danced  riotously ;  and  with  every  movement 
of  her  brown  arms  the  bracelets  on  her  wrists 

100 


THE    GYPSY    TOSSED    BACK.    HER    CAPE 


GIPSYING 

jangled.  I  glanced  at  her  suspiciously  from  time 
to  time.  But  Joey's  delight  was  beyond  bounds. 
He  was  so  frankly  overjoyed  at  the  gipsy's 
presence  that  once  or  twice  he  giggled  outright 
when  she  looked  at  him.  I  saw  an  answering 
flash  in  her  eyes.  Of  speech  she  was  chary,  and 
all  my  efforts  to  draw  her  into  conversation  were 
futile. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  assist  Joey  and  me 
with  the  clearing  away  of  the  remains  of  the  re- 
past, watching  us  from  under  sleepy  lids  without 
changing  her  position  against  the  log;  but  when 
we  came  back  to  the  fire  after  our  work  was 
finished,  and  I  stretched  out  with  a  luxurious 
yawn,  she  smiled  at  me  and  mumbled: 

"The  poor  gipsy  girl  can  tell  your  for- 
tune." 

"I  don't  believe  you're  a  Romany,"  I  said 
sharply,  "you're  much  too  good  looking,  and  too 
clean." 

She  drew  back,  resentment  in  her  bearing,  and 
I  made  haste  to  placate  her  by  saying: 

"The  fact  is,  I  have  had  my  fortune  told  so 
often  by  gipsies  in  the  vicinity  of  Roselake  that 
there  is  no  novelty  in  it." 

She  frowned,  and  I  asked,  trying  to  speak 
pleasantly,  "Where  is  your  encampment?" 

101 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

She  pointed  towards  the  West.  "There! 
Way  off,"  she  grunted. 

We  sat  for  a  long  while  in  silence.  The  dark- 
ness was  like  a  glorious,  blurred,  mist-hung  web, 
closing  in  beyond  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  our 
camp  fire.  The  crescent  moon  shone  palely,  but 
the  stars  were  like  crimson  fires  in  the  nest  of 
night.  There  was  a  smell  of  honey  on  the  wind, 
a  pungency  of  pine,  a  mingling  of  mellow  odors ; 
and  over  all  this  the  cleanness  of  the  woods  that 
was  like  a  tonic. 

Joey  yawned  finally,  his  head  fell  over  heavily 
against  my  arm,  and  I  said,  "Bed-time,  Joey  1" 

"As  for  me,"  the  gipsy  muttered,  rolling  over 
with  an  indolent,  cat-like  movement  on  the  soft 
moss,  "I  sleep  here.  This  is  a  good  bed.  You 
sleep  in  the  wagon?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"Good!  The  encampment  is  far  away.  I  will 
not  go  through  the  woods  to-night.  Not  me." 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  cape.  I  heard  a 
prodigious  yawn.  "Good  night,"  she  said,  in  a 
muffled  tone. 

I  stowed  Joey  away  on  a  bed  of  hemlock 
boughs  in  the  wagon,  and  after  I  had  satisfied 
myself  that  he  slept,  I  returned  to  the  fire.  I 
knelt  beside  the  shrouded  figure. 

102 


GIPSYING 

"Wanza  Lyttle,"  I  said  sternly,  "uncover  your 
face  and  look  at  me." 

She  kicked  out  ruthlessly  with  both  copper- 
toed  shoes,  wriggled  angrily  beneath  her  cape, 
and  then  lay  quiet. 

"Do  you  think,  Wanza,  you  should  have  fol- 
lowed us  in  this  shameless  fashion, — and  in  this 
disguise?" 

"I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't,  if  I  wanted  to," 
a  surly  voice  replied  from  the  folds  of  the  cape. 

"You  are  always  doing  inconceivable,  silly 
things,"  I  went  on.  "How  did  you  get  here?" 

"I  followed  you  on  horseback.  Rosebud  is 
tethered  a  ways  back  in  the  woods." 

"What  will  your  father  say  to  this?  What 
will  the  entire  village  say  when  the  busybodies 
learn  of  it?" 

"Father  isn't  at  home;  he's  at  Harrison.  As 
for  the  others, — "  Wanza  sat  up,  and  cast  the 
cape  from  her — "little  I  care  for  their  talk." 

"I  wish  you  cared  more  for  public  opinion, 
Wanza." 

"Public  fiddlesticks,"  Wanza  growled,  crossly. 

Suddenly  she  laughed  with  child-like  naivete, 
her  eyes  grew  bright  with  roguery. 

"You  did  not  know  me  just  at  first,  now  did 
you?  The  black  wig,  and  staining  my  face  and 

103 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

hands  fooled  you  all  right  for  awhile.  Don't  I 
look  like  a  gipsy?  I  did  it  to  please  Joey — 
partly — and  partly  because — oh,  Mr.  Dale,  I 
wanted  to  come  with  you!  It  sounded  so  fine — 
what  you  said  about  the  greenwood  and  the  cara- 
van. Do  you  hate  me  for  following?" 

What  could  I  say? 

I  made  her  as  comfortable  as  I  could  there  on 
the  soft  moss,  with  a  couple  of  blankets,  heaped 
fresh  wood  on  the  fire,  and  then  I  crawled  in  be- 
side Joey  and  lay  pondering  on  this  latest  prank 
of  madcap  Wanza.  I  saw  the  moon  grow 
brighter  and  pass  from  my  vision,  I  saw  the  stars 
wheel  down  the  sky  towards  the  west,  and  dawn 
come  up  like  a  delicate  mincing  lady,  and  then 
I  slept. 

Joey  stood  beside  me  when  I  awakened.  He 
had  a  scarlet  ribbon  in  his  hand. 

"The  gipsy's  gone,  Mr.  David,"  he  said.  "I 
found  this  hanging  on  an  elder  bush." 

I  breathed  a  sigh  of  thankfulness. 

"So  she's  gone,"  I  murmured,  not  venturing  to 
meet  his  eyes. 

"She  was  a  beautiful  gipsy,"  he  continued  re- 
gretfully. "Do  you  know,  Mr.  David,  I  think 
she  was  almost — not  quite — but  almost  as  pretty 

104. 


GIPSYING 

as  Wanza.     I  guess  there  never  was  any  one 
prettier  than  Wanza,  'cept — "  he  hesitated. 

"Yes,  Joey?    Except?" 

"Is  the  wonder  woman  prettier?"  He  put  the 
question  wistfully. 

"Perhaps  not — I  do  not  know,  Joey."  Could 
I  say  in  truth  she  was?  remembering  the  face  I 
had  seen  in  the  firelight. 

But  that  night  after  Joey  was  tucked  away  in 
the  covered  wagon  the  gipsy  came  again.  I 
raised  my  eyes  from  the  fire  to  see  her  coming 
through  the  long  grass  toward  me.  She  came 
springing  along,  her  bare  arms  thrusting  back 
the  low  hanging  tree  branches,  her  short  skirt 
swirling  above  her  bare  feet. 

I  went  to  meet  her.  Her  manner  was  bashful, 
and  her  eyes  were  imploring.  And  after  I  had 
greeted  her  she  was  tongue-tied. 

"Now  that  you  are  here,  come  to  the  fire,"  I 
said. 

She  shrank  from  me  like  a  tristful  child. 

"Come,"  I  said.  "And  tell  me  why  you  have 
come  back." 

"I  haven't  come  back — exactly.  I  have  been 
in  the  woods  all  day  near  here." 

"Why  have  you  done  this?" 
105 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"I  don't  know." 

She  hung  her  head  and  looked  up  from  under 
her  curtain  of  hair. 

I  threw  a  fresh  log  on  the  fire  and  she  seated 
herself.  I  stood  looking  down  at  her  half  in 
anger,  half  in  dismay. 

"Are  you  hungry?  Have  you  eaten  to-day?" 
I  asked. 

"I  have  all  the  food  I  need  in  the  saddle  bags." 

I  seated  myself  then,  and  as  there  seemed 
nothing  more  to  say  I  was  silent.  But  I  looked 
at  her  in  deep  perplexity  from  time  to  time.  She 
was  flushed,  and  her  eyes  were  burning.  Her 
hair  was  tangled  about  her  neck  and  veiled  her 
bosom.  She  faced  me,  wide-eyed  and  silent. 

It  was  deeply  dark  in  the  hill-hollows  by  now, 
but  the  sky  was  a  lighter  tone,  and  the  stars 
seemed  to  burn  more  brightly  than  usual.  There 
was  no  faintest  stirring  of  wind.  The  silence 
was  intense,  bated,  you  could  feel  it,  vibrating 
about  you.  The  trees  were  heavy  black  masses, 
shadowing  us.  I  heard  a  coyote  yelp  away  off 
on  some  distant  hill  side,  and  the  sound  but  made 
the  ensuing  silence  more  pronounced. 

Presently  Wanza  spoke :  "I  wish  I  was  a  real 
gipsy,"  she  said.  Her  tone  was  subdued,  there 
was  something  softened  and  wistful  in  it.  "All 

106 


GIPSYING 

day  long  I  have  had  the  time  I've  always  wanted, 
to  do  nothing  in.  I  waded  in  the  spring.  I  slept 
hours  in  the  shade.  I  drank  milk  and  ate  bread. 
I  bought  the  milk  at  a  ranch  house  way  up  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  Glory !  It  was  great !  I 
hadn't  a  single  dish  to  wash.  It's  all  right  when 
you're  rich — everything  is,  I  guess.  But  when 
you're  squeezy  poor  and  uneducated  and  of  no 
account,  and  you're  housekeeper  and  peddler  and 
Lord  knows  what!  You  don't  get  no  chance  to 
have  a  good  time.  Now,  do  you,  Mr.  David 
Dale?" 

Her  words  aroused  me  somewhat  rudely  from 
a  reverie  into  which  I  had  drifted,  so  that  I 
answered  abstractedly:  "Perhaps  not,  girl." 

"Well,  you  don't.  What  chance  do  I  get?" 
She  stared  fixedly  at  the  fire.  "I  have  to  work, 
work,  work,  when  all  the  time  I  feel  like  kicking 
up  my  heels  like  a  colt  in  a  pasture."  There  was 
a  strained,  uneven  quality  in  her  tone  that  was 
foreign  to  it.  I  saw  that  she  was  terribly  in 
earnest. 

"A  gipsy's  life  isn't  all  play,  Wanza.  It's  all 
right  in  poetry!  And  it's  all  right  for  a  gipsy. 
But  Wanza  Lyttle  is  better  off  in  her  peddler's 
cart." 

"Well,  I'd  just  like  to  try  it  for  awhile!" 
107 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  remembered  a  song  I  had  heard  in  Spokane 
— at  Davenport's  roof  garden — on  a  rare  occa- 
sion when  an  artist  chap  who  had  spent  some 
weeks  at  my  shack  had  insisted  on  putting  me  up 
for  a  day  or  two  while  I  visited  the  art  shops  in 
the  city.  It  was  a  haunting  thing,  with  a  flow- 
ing happy  lilt.  I  had  been  unable  to  forget  it, 
and  without  thinking  now,  I  sang  it. 

"Down  the  world  with  Marna! 
That's  the  life  for  me! 
Wandering  with  the  wandering  wind 
Vagabond  and  unconfined! 
Roving  with  the  roving  rain 
Its  unboundaried  domain ! 
Kith  and  kin  of  wander-kind 
Children  of  the  sea! 
Petrels  of  the  sea-drift! 
Swallows  of  the  lea ! 
Arabs  of  the  whole  wide  girth 
Of  the  wind-encircled  earth! 
In  all  climes  we  pitch  our  tents, 
Cronies  of  the  elements 
With  the  secret  lords  of  birth 
Intimate  and  free." 

"Go  on,"  Wanza  breathed  tensely,  as  I  paused. 

"Have  you  never  heard  it?" 

"Never!" 

I  sang  lightly: 

108 


GIPSYING 

"Marna  with  the  trees'  life 
In  her  veins  astir ! 
Marna  of  the  aspen  heart 
Where  the  sudden  quivers  start! 
Quick-responsive,  subtle,  wild! 
Artless  as  an  artless  child, 
Spite  of  all  her  reach  of  art ! 
Oh,  to  roam  with  her!" 

"Is  there  more?"  Wanza  queried  as  I  again 
paused. 

"Oh,  yes!  It's  rather  long."  I  bent  forward 
and  gave  the  fire  a  poke.  "That's  about  enough 
for  one  evening,  isn't  it?" 

"No,  no!  I  want  to  hear  it  all.  Oh,  go  on, 
Mr.  Dale,  please!" 

"Marna  with  the  wind's  will, 
Daughter  of  the  sea! 
Marna  of  the  quick  disdain, 
Starting  at  the  dream  of  stain ! 
At  a  smile  with  love  aglow, 
At  a  frown  a  statued  woe, 
Standing  pinnacled  in  pain 
Till  a  kiss  sets  free!" 

Wanza  was  very  silent  as  I  finished.  I  felt 
strangely  silent,  too,  and  weighted  with  a  slight 
melancholy.  But  the  singing  of  the  song  had 
put  an  end  to  Wanza's  plaint.  Her  face  had  lost 
its  peevish  lines  and  grown  normal  again.  The 

109 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

fire  burned  low,  a  wind  came  up  from  the  west 
and  blew  the  ashes  in  our  faces,  there  was  a  weird 
groaning  from  the  pine  trees.  The  quiet  of  the 
night  had  changed  to  unrest,  overhead  the  sky 
had  grown  darker,  the  stars  brighter.  We  con- 
tinued to  sit  side  by  side  in  brooding  quiet,  until 
the  fire  had  burnt  its  heart  out,  and  the  air  be- 
came more  chill,  and  drowsiness  began  to  tug  at 
our  eyelids. 

I  arose  then.  "Light  of  my  tent,"  I  said  with 
gay  camaraderie,  "I  will  bring  the  blankets  from 
the  wagon  for  you,  and  since  you  are  to  sleep 
here  you  may  as  well  stay  and  breakfast  with 
Joey  and  me." 

She  looked  up  at  me  oddly,  sitting  cross-legged 
close  to  the  fire,  the  light  spraying  over  her  dusky 
carmined  cheeks.  "Say  the  words  of  that  gipsy 
thing  again,"  she  urged. 

"I  can't  sing  any  more  to-night,  girl." 

"Don't  sing — say  the  words." 

The  evening  had  been  so  frictionless,  that  I 
made  haste  to  comply  with  this  very  modest  de- 
mand; but  when  I  came  to  the  last  verse  I 
stumbled,  and  in  spite  of  myself  my  voice  soft- 
ened and  fired  at  the  witchery  of  the  words: 

"Marna  with  the  wind's  will, 
Daughter  of  the  sea! 
110 


GIPSYING 

Marna  of  the  quick  disdain, 
Starting  at  the  dream  of  stain! 
At  a  smile  with  love  aglow, 
At  a  frown  a  statued  woe, 
Standing  pinnacled  in  pain 
Till  a  kiss  sets  free!" 

Wanza  rose  and  came  close  to  me  as  I  finished. 
Her  black  elf-locks  brushed  my  shoulder.  "If 
I  was  a  gipsy  and  you  was  a  gipsy,"  she 
whispered,  "things  would  be  different." 

I  saw  her  eyes.  Some  of  the  tenderness  of  the 
last  few  lines  of  the  song  was  in  my  voice  as  I 
whispered  back,  "How  different,  child?" 

I  stood  looking  down  at  her,  and  her  eyes — 
burningly  blue — sank  into  mine.  The  wind 
tossed  her  hair  out.  A  strand  brushed  my  lips. 
She  seemed  an  unknown  alien  maid,  in  her  dis- 
guise, and  in  the  shifting  pink  light  from  the  low 
burning  fire.  I  took  a  bit  of  her  hair  in  my  hand 
and  I  looked  into  her  face  curiously.  I  stood 
thus  for  a  long  moment,  catching  my  breath 
fiercely,  staring,  staring — her  hands  held  mine, 
her  scarf  of  red  silk  whipped  my  throat — how 
strangely  beautiful  her  face,  the  full  lids,  the 
subtle  chin,  the  delicate  yet  warm  lips!  Had  I 
ever  seen  as  beautiful  a  girl-face  ?  The  soft  wind 
swept  past  us  sweet  with  balm  oj  Gilead;  the 

111 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

brook  was  awake  and  singing  to  the  rushes;  but 
the  birds  were  asleep,  and  a  sweet  solitude  was 
ours.  This  girl  was  of  my  world,  all  gipsy  she, 
wilder  than  most.  And  I — was  I  not  as  wide  a 
wanderer  as  any  gipsy?  as  homeless?  I  smiled 
into  the  eyes  that  smiled  into  mine,  and  I 
hummed  below  my  breath : 

"Standing  pinnacled  in  pain 
Till  a  kiss  sets  free !" 

Yes,  the  face  of  this  girl  was  a  marvelous  thing, 
a  perfect  bit  of  chiselling.  Brow,  cheeks,  nose, 
chin,  shell-like  ears — exquisitely  modelled.  Had 
I  ever  looked  at  her  before?  What  rare  perfec- 
tion there  was  in  her  face.  And  her  nature  was 
rich — rich  1  Her  soul — 

Ah,  her  soul! 

Suddenly  it  was  Wanza,  my  comrade,  Joey's 
staunch  friend  and  playmate,  into  whose  eyes  I 
looked.  The  gipsy  was  gone.  The  glamour 
was  gone.  Enchantment  and  madness  were 
gone.  I  stood  by  a  dying  fire  in  a  wind-stirred 
forest,  with  the  roughened  hands  of  a  country 
wench  in  mine.  But  though  she  was  only  a  coun- 
try wench  I  admired  and  respected  her.  And 
when  she  whispered  again  as  I  moved  away  from 
the  touch  of  her  hands:  "Things  would  be  dif- 

112 


GIPSYING 

ferent  if  we  was  gipsies,"  I  replied:  "Perhaps  so, 
Wanza.  But  we  are  not  gipsies.  So  let  us  not 
even  play  at  gipsy  ing." 

I  went  to  the  wagon  for  the  baskets. 

The  next  morning  the  gipsy  was  gone,  and 
that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  her. 


113 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BIG  MAN 

SOME  two  weeks  later  Joey  informed  me 
that  he  could  play  "Bell  Brandon"  on  his 
flute.  I  doubt  if  any  one  familiar  with 
the  piece  would  have  recognized  it  as  rendered 
by  Joey  on  the  futile  instrument  I  had  carved. 
The  air  being  unfamiliar  to  me  I  asked  him  where 
he  had  picked  it  up. 

"Oh,"  he  said  carelessly,  "she  plays  it  on  her 
guitar." 

I  was  growing  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  Joey, 
followed  by  the  collie,  marching  sturdily  away 
down  the  yew  path  each  day  as  soon  as  the  dinner 
dishes  were  done,  and  I  had  more  than  once  re- 
monstrated with  him  on  the  frequency  of  his  visits 
to  Hidden  Lake.  His  answer  was  invariably  the 
same.  "She  says,  'Come  again,'  every  time,  Mr. 
David." 

"That's  only  a  way  people  have  of  being 
polite,"  I  protested  at  last,  and  was  surprised  to 
see  the  hurt  tears  in  his  eyes. 

That  night  he  came  home  radiant. 

"She  doesn't  say  'Come  again'  to  be  polite," 
114 


THE  BIG  MAN 

he  announced,  throwing  his  cap  in  a  corner  and 
speaking  blusteringly.  "She  didn't  ask  Mr. 
Lundquist  to  come  again.  She  only  said,  'When 
I  need  you  again  I'll  let  you  know.'  " 

The  perfect  weather  changed  about  this  time, 
and  sultry  nights,  alternating  with  days  like  hot 
coals,  ensued,  until,  suddenly,  one  evening  at 
dusk,  the  wind  came  up  with  a  roar,  and  scurry- 
ing leaves  and  particles  of  dust  filled  the  air. 
The  dust  storm  enveloped  us.  It  sang  and 
poured  and  hissed  up  and  down  the  river,  the 
temperature  kept  dropping  lower  and  lower,  rain 
and  hail  descended,  and  the  wind  grew  more  tem- 
pestuous as  darkness  came  on. 

As  I  pored  over  a  volume  of  Tacitus  that  even- 
ing, glowing  with  the  sense  of  well  being  that 
the  warmth  of  the  fire  and  the  cheer  of  the  light 
cast  by  my  green-shaded  light  imparted  in  con- 
trast to  the  storm  without,  there  came  a  vigorous 
knocking  at  the  cabin  door. 

Joey,  dozing  on  his  stool  before  the  fire,  sat  up- 
right with  a  start,  and  the  collie  growled  and 
rufHed  his  back.  A  curious  prescience  of  disaster 
assailed  me  with  that  knock ;  a  grim  finger  seemed 
laid  on  my  heart-strings — I  seemed  to  feel  the 
touch  of  a  cold  iron  hand  arresting  me  on  a  well- 
ordered,  dearly  familiar  path. 

115 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Joey  sprang  to  the  door,  opened  it  wide,  and 
a  gust  of  wind  tore  it  from  his  hand.  The  rain 
swept  into  the  cabin,  and  a  man  carrying  a  suit- 
case came  quickly  forward  from  the  darkness 
beyond,  crossed  the  threshold,  and  stood  in  the 
glare  of  the  firelight. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  powerfully  built,  but  he 
walked  with  a  slovenly  gait,  and  something 
pompous  and  hard  and  withal  insincere  rang  in 
his  tones  as  he  set  down  his  suitcase  and  spoke : 

"Pardon  my  intrusion,  my  man.  Your  light 
attracted  me.  It's  blacker  than  Egypt  outside, 
and  I've  lost  my  way  in  the  storm." 

He  rolled  back  the  collar  of  his  slicker  coat  and 
shook  the  raindrops  from  the  brim  of  his  hat. 

"Take  off  your  coat,"  I  said  hospitably,  "and 
come  up  to  the  fire." 

He  thanked  me,  favored  me  with  a  patronizing 
glance  from  his  full-lidded  light  eyes,  and  stood 
rocking  back  and  forth  on  the  bearskin  rug  before 
the  fire,  rubbing  his  hands. 

"I  shall  have  to  hurry  on  to  Roselake  if  I  am 
to  get  there  to-night.  Perhaps  you  will  show  me 
the  trail,  my  man." 

I  assured  him  that  I  would  direct  him,  then 
realizing  that  the  man  was  chilled  through,  I 
threw  a  fresh  log  on  the  fire,  and  going  to  a  cup- 

116 


THE  BIG  MAN 

board  in  the  chimney-corner,  took  down  a  bottle 
and  a  small  glass  and  placed  them  on  the  table. 

"Have  a  drink,"  I  said,  "it  will  save  you  from 
a  bad  cold  on  a  night  like  this." 

"Thanks.  Don't  mind  if  I  do."  He  filled 
his  glass,  and  as  he  did  so  his  glance  fell  on  the 
book  I  had  been  reading.  His  manner  changed. 

'Tacit us' 1  Rather  grim  reading  for  a  wild 
night  like  this."  He  turned  a  page  unsteadily, 
and  followed  a  line  with  his  finger.  "Mml 
Nero,  the  fiddler — it's  ghastly  reading — bestial, 
rather.  Cramming  for  anything?" 

"No,"  I  replied. 

"Take  something  lighter — 'Abbe  Constantine,' 
'Hyperion,'  'The  Snow  Man.'  " 

His  voice  was  thick;  and  as  he  stood  resting 
his  hand  on  a  chair  back,  he  lurched  slightly. 

"Sit  down,"  I  said. 

He  sank  into  the  armchair  and  raised  his  glass, 
waving  it  in  my  direction,  then  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
bowed,  and  said:  "Your  health,  sir,"  and  drank 
thirstily.  I  saw  them  that  he  had  been  imbibing 
more  than  was  good  for  him,  but  I  could  also 
see  that  he  was  literally  sodden  with  fatigue,  and 
something  impelled  me  to  offer  him  food. 

"Now  that's  kind — very  kind,"  he  said 
throatily.  "I  could  not  think — "  He  reeled 

117 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

back  against  the  chair  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
head  suddenly. 

I  signaled  to  Joey,  who  left  the  room,  and  I 
went  to  the  man  and  eased  him  into  the  depth  of 
the  chair. 

"Rest  here  awhile  and  have  something  hot  to 
eat,"  I  suggested. 

His  head  sank  on  his  chest,  his  lids  dropped 
over  his  prominent  eyes.  "Yes — 'Abbe  Con- 
stantine' — or  'Hyperion' — 'Hyperion,'  prefer- 
ably," he  mumbled.  "Weak,  disgusting  fool — 
Nero!" 

He  roused  sufficiently  to  eat  a  few  mouthfuls 
when  Joey  and  I  served  him  royally  with  good 
corned-beef  and  hominy,  and  a  steaming  pot  of 
coffee.  But  he  sank  again  into  lethargy,  and  I 
saw  that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  push  on  to 
Roselake  in  the  storm. 

I  told  him  so  frankly,  and  pointed  to  a  built- 
in  bunk  covered  with  hemlock  boughs  in  the 
corner.  "Turn  in  here,"  I  said,  giving  him  a 
couple  of  blankets.  "I'll  bunk  with  the  lad  to- 
night." 

I  had  taken  great  pains  with  Joey's  room,  and 
the  narrow  cedar  strips  with  which  I  had  paneled 
it  shone  with  a  silver  lustre  in  the  light  of  the 
two  candles  Joey  insisted  on  lighting  in  my 

118 


THE  BIG  MAN 

honor.  Joey's  bed  was  a  boxed-in  affair,  but  I 
had  contrived  to  make  it  comfortable  by  stretch- 
ing stout  bed-cord  from  the  head  to  the  foot  and 
interlacing  it  across  from  side  to  side.  This 
served  in  lieu  of  springs.  The  mattress  was  a 
crude  one  of  straw,  but  the  straw  was  sweet  and 
clean,  and  Wanza  had  pieced  a  wonderful  bed 
quilt  of  shawl-flower  pattern  calico,  and  pre- 
sented it  to  Joey  the  year  before  when  he  had  the 
measles.  The  bed  had  a  valance  of  blue  burlap, 
and  I  had  painstakingly  stenciled  it  with  birds 
and  beasts  and  funny  fat  clowns  and  acrobatic 
ladies  in  short  skirts  and  tights,  after  a  never-to- 
be-forgotten  circus-day  parade  Joey  had  wit- 
nessed in  the  village. 

There  was  a  gayly  striped  Indian  blanket  for 
covering,  and  pillows  stuffed  with  the  feathers  of 
many  a  mallard  slaughtered  in  the  marshes.  I 
had  converted  a  couple  of  barrels  into  chairs  and 
covered  them  with  tea  matting.  For  floor  cover- 
ing there  were  the  skin  of  a  mountain  lion  that 
had  prowled  too  close  to  my  cabin  one  night, 
and  the  skins  of  a  couple  of  coyotes  that  had 
ventured  within  shooting  distance. 

In  one  of  the  windows  hung  the  wooden  cage 
I  had  made  for  Joey's  magpie.  But  the  windows 
themselves  were  my  chief  pride.  I  had  procured 

119 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

them  from  an  old  house-boat  that  had  been  aban- 
doned by  a  party  of  fishermen,  and  had  drifted 
down  the  river  to  anchor  itself  before  my  work- 
shop. There  were  four  of  these  windows,  with 
tiny  mullioned  panes,  and  I  had  hung  them,  two 
on  either  side  of  a  door  that  opened  out  on  a 
rustic  pergola  I  had  erected.  The  pergola  le(J 
to  a  bosky  dell  of  green — a  veritable  bower— 
where  wild  honeysuckle  hung  its  bells  in  the  sweet 
syringa  bushes,  and  wild  forget-me-not  and 
violets  and  kinnikinic  gemmed  the  emerald  banks 
of  a  limpid  pool  so  hedged  in  by  high  green 
thickets  that  no  eye  save  the  initiated  ever  rested 
on  its  crystal  clarity.  We  called  this  spot  the 
Dingle  Dell,  and  the  Dingle  was  a  rare  retreat 
for  Joey  on  the  occasion  of  any  embarrassing 
caller. 

As  I  blew  out  the  candles  that  night  and  lay 
down  beside  the  little  lad,  he  murmured  sleepily: 
"Bell  Brandon  ain't  so  terrible  hard  to  play  on 
the  flute — but  it's  terrible  hard  on  a  guitar;  a 
guitar  makes  blisters  on  your  fingers." 

He  spoke  again  almost  unintelligibly.  "I 
don't  like  that  man.  He  never  spoke  to  me  once, 
Mr.  David.  Any  one,  'most,  speaks  to  a  boy." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  I  awakened.  Joey 
was  sitting  up  in  bed. 

120 


THE  BIG  MAN 

"A  star's  out,  Mr.  David.  I'm  making  a 
wish,"  he  whispered. 

"Well,  well,"  I  yawned  drowsily,  "lie  down — 
you'll  take  cold." 

He  cuddled  obediently  beneath  the  blankets. 
"I'm  wishing  the  big  man  would  go,  but  I'm  wish- 
ing you'd  sleep  with  me  just  the  same,  Mr.  David. 
I  sleep  tighter  when  the  coyotes  Roller." 


CHAPTER  X 

JINGLES  BRINGS  A   MESSAGE 

JOEY  did  not  get  his  wish  concerning  the 
departure  of  the  big  man,  for  the  next 
morning  the  big  man  was  in  no  condition 
to  go  anywhere.  He  was  still  lying  in  his  bunk 
when  I  went  through  the  room  to  build  the 
kitchen  fire;  and  when  breakfast  was  ready,  he 
had  not  roused  even  to  the  strains  of  "Bell 
Brandon"  played  on  Joey's  flute. 

I  stood  over  him,  and  he  looked  up  at  me  with 
lack-lustre  eyes,  attempted  to  rise  and  rolled  back 
on  his  pillow  like  a  log. 

"Morning,  stranger,"  he  muttered.  He 
winked  at  me  slyly.  His  face  was  puffy  and  red, 
his  eyes  swollen,  his  breathing  irregular  and 
labored.  "What's  matter?"  he  protested  thickly, 
then  he  smiled,  with  a  painful  contortion  of  his 
fever-seared  lips,  "I  seem  to  be  Jiors  de  combat. 
Terrible  pain  here."  He  touched  his  chest. 

"I'll  get  a  doctor  at  once,"  I  said. 

He  thanked  me,  gave  me  a  keen  look,  and 


JINGLES  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE 

asked  wheezingly:  "Not  married?  No  wife 
about?" 

I  shook  my  head.     "Unfortunately,  no." 

He  winked  at  me  a  second  time.  "Lascia  la 
moglie  e  tienti  donzello"  he  cackled. 

I  went  from  the  room  pondering  on  the  strange 
personality  of  this  man,  who  was  unquestionably 
a  scholar,  and  who,  no  doubt,  considered  himself 
a  gentleman.  I  despatched  Joey  for  a  doctor. 

"Take  Buttons  and  ride  to  Roselake  as  fast  as 
you  can,"  I  bade  him.  "Where's  the  collie?  He 
may  go  along." 

Joey,  basking  in  the  sun  on  the  back  steps,  laid 
aside  his  flute.  His  lips  drew  down,  and  his  eyes 
bulged  widely. 

"The  big  man's  going  to  stay,  then,  Mr. 
David?" 

"Run  along,"  I  said  sharply. 

As  I  let  down  the  meadow  bars,  Joey  turned 
in  his  saddle  and  gave  his  clear  boyish  whistle. 
But  no  Jingles  answered  the  call,  and  a  moment 
later  the  lad  rode  away  with  a  clouded  face. 

A  few  moments  later,  as  I  plied  my  ax  at  the 
rear  of  the  cabin,  the  cold  muzzle  of  the  collie 
was  thrust  against  my  hand.  I  stooped  to  caress 
him,  and  as  he  leaped  up  to  greet  me,  I  smiled 
as  my  eyes  caught  the  color  and  the  sheen  of  a 

123 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

silken  ribbon  threaded  through  his  collar.  Well, 
I  knew  that  bit  of  adornment — that  azure  fillet 
that  Haidee  had  worn  in  her  hair. 

I  touched  the  inanimate  thing  with  tender 
fingers,  and  started  suddenly  to  find  a  jeweled 
pendant  hanging  there,  glowing  like  a  dewdrop 
against  the  dog's  soft  fur.  I  stood  agape,  feel- 
ing my  face  soften  as  my  fingers  stroked  the 
bauble;  and  then  I  straightened  up  with  a  swift 
presentiment.  It  was  in  no  playful  mood  that 
Haidee  had  placed  that  costly  gewgaw  about  the 
collie's  neck. 

I  turned  toward  the  stable,  and  then  remem- 
bered that  Joey  had  taken  the  horse.  My  only 
recourse  was  the  canoe.  I  ran  to  the  willows 
where  the  craft  was  secreted.  I  had  it  afloat  in 
a  twinkling,  and  was  paddling  away  down  the 
river,  the  collie  barking  furiously  on  the  shore. 

Poor  pale,  beautiful  Haidee!  She  lay  like  a 
crumpled  white  rose  in  the  bracken  beside  the 
spring.  The  white  fir-tree  that,  in  falling,  had 
crushed  the  lean-to  of  the  frail  cabin  had  swept 
her  beneath  its  branches  as  she  bent  for  water  at 
the  spring.  This  was  the  story  I  read  for  myself 
as  I  bent  above  my  prostrate  girl.  But  it  was 
many  days  before  I  learned  the  whole  truth. 
How,  close  onto  midnight,  she  had  heard  a  man 


JINGLES  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE 

hallooing  from  the  lake  shore ;  how  she  had  stolen 
out  from  the  cabin  in  the  storm,  fearing  an  in- 
trusion from  some  drunken  reveler  from  the 
village  tavern;  how,  after  the  tree  had  fallen  and 
pinned  her  fast  with  its  cruel  branches,  she  had 
lain  unconscious  until  with  the  first  streak  of  light 
she  had  felt  the  touch  of  the  collie's  muzzle  against 
her  face;  how  she  had  roused,  and,  her  hands 
being  free,  had  torn  the  ribbon  from  her  hair  and 
bound  it  about  the  collie's  neck,  and,  as  an  after- 
thought, attached  the  pendant  from  her  throat, 
thinking  the  ribbon  alone  might  not  occasion  sur- 
prise. 

She  told  me  all  this,  days  afterward ;  but  when 
I  reached  her  side,  she  was  incapable  of  speech, 
and  only  a  flutter  of  her  white  lids  denoted  that 
she  was  conscious. 

I  had  a  bad  half  hour  alone  there  in  the 
bracken,  watching  her  face  grow  grayer  and 
grayer  as  I  worked  to  dislodge  the  branches  that 
were  pinning  her  down.  And,  at  last,  as  I  lifted 
her  in  my  arms,  I  saw  the  last  particle  of  color 
drain  from  her  lips,  and  realized  that  she  had 
fainted.  But  I  had  her  in  my  arms,  and  her 
heart  was  beating  f akitly.  And,  someway,  hope 
leaped  up  and  I  felt  courageous  and  strong,  as  I 
bore  her  to  the  river  and  placed  her  in  the  canoe. 

125 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Joey  was  kneeling  among  the  willows  with  his 
arms  clasping  Jingles  as  I  beached  my  canoe  near 
the  workshop. 

"I  knew  something  had  happened  to  Bell 
Brandon,"  he  declared,  in  big-eyed  misery.  "I 
knew  it!  I  knew  it!"  He  took  the  crumpled 
bit  of  ribbon  from  the  dog's  neck  with  hands  that 
trembled,  and  came  forward  slowly.  I  was  un- 
prepared for  the  look  of  abject  misery  on  his 
small  face.  "Oh,  Mr.  David,"  he  quavered, 
"don't  tell  me  she  is  dead!" 

"No,  no,  lad,"  I  said  hastily,  "she  has  only 
fainted." 

He  looked  at  me  uncertainly,  tried  to  smile, 
and  a  tear  dropped  on  the  ribbon  in  his  hands. 
Then  a  look  of  joy  made  his  face  luminous. 
"The  doctor's  here,  Mr.  David.  I  didn't  know  I 
was  abringing  him  for  Bell  Brandon.  I  thought 
it  was  just  for  the  big  man." 

So  Joey  had  a  name  for  my  wonder  woman, 
too.  I  could  not  but  feel  that  his  name  was  the 
sweeter  of  the  two. 

I  bore  Haidee  through  the  room  where  the 
doctor  was  in  attendance  on  the  big  man,  who 
was  by  this  time  raving  and  incoherent  in  his 
delirium,  passed  swiftly  through  the  small  hall- 
way that  separated  the  cedar  room  from  the  main 

126 


JINGLES  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE 

one,  and  laid  Haidee  on  Joey's  bed.  Then  I 
brought  the  doctor.  I  left  Haidee  in  his  hands, 
and  Joey  and  I  passed  outside  to  the  Dingle,  and 
stood  there  silently,  side  by  side,  by  the  pool. 

I  saw  the  green  mirror  flecked  with  the  white 
petals  of  the  syringa,  and  I  heard  a  squirrel  chat- 
tering in  the  hemlock  above  my  head,  and  was 
conscious  of  a  calliope  humming-bird  that  pecked 
at  the  wool  of  my  sweater.  But  my  whole  soul 
was  in  that  cedar  room,  where  Haidee  lay  white 
and  suffering,  and  I  was  repeating  a  prayer  that 
had  been  on  my  mother's  lips  often  when  I  was 
a  child  as  she  had  bent  over  me  in  my  small  bed : 

"Oh,  Lord,  keep  my  dear  one!  Deliver  us 
from  murder  and  from  sudden  death — Good 
Lord,  deliver  us !" 

But  Haidee's  condition  was  not  serious.  The 
doctor  came  out  to  us,  Joey  and  me,  with  the  as- 
surance, and  at  once  the  world  began  to  wag 
evenly  with  me.  "All  she  needs  now  is  rest,"  he 
said  suavely.  "She  will  now  be  able  to  rest  for 
some  time.  You'd  better  get  a  woman  here, 
Dale,  to  help  out.  Mrs.  Batterly  mentioned  it. 
There'll  have  to  be  a  trained  nurse  for  the  man." 

In  the  workshop  Joey  and  I  considered  the 
situation  in  all  its  phases,  and  Joey  sagely  coun- 
seled :  "Send  for  Wanza." 

127 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

The  suggestion  seemed  a  wise  one,  so  I  penned 
a  careful  note,  and  Joey  rode  away  to  the  village 
for  the  second  time  that  day. 

In  my  note  I  said : 

Dear  Wanza: 

I  am  in  trouble.  Mrs.  Batterly  has  met  with  an 
accident,  and  is  here  at  my  cabin,  unable  to  be  moved. 
I  have  also  a  very  sick  man — a  stranger — on  my  hands. 
Joey  and  I  need  you — will  you  come? 

Your  old  friend, 

DAVID  DALE. 

Wanza  responded  gallantly  to  my  call  for  aid. 
In  a  couple  of  hours  I  heard  the  rattle  of  her  cart 
and  the  jingle  of  harness,  and  the  sound  of  But- 
tons' hoof -beats  on  the  river  road,  and  emerged 
from  my  workshop  to  greet  her. 

She  stepped  down  from  the  shelter  of  the  pink- 
lined  umbrella,  and  answered  my  greeting  with 
great  circumspection.  I  lifted  down  her  bag  and 
a  big  bundle,  Joey  carried  her  sweater  and  a 
white-covered  basket,  and  together  we  escorted 
her  to  the  cabin  and  made  an  imposing  en- 
trance. 

The  big  man,  tossing  about  in  his  bunk  in  the 
front  room,  ceased  his  confused  mutterings  as  we 
crossed  the  threshold,  struggled  up  to  his  elbow, 
stared,  and  pointed  his  finger  at  Wanza.  "La 

128 


JINGLES  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE 

beaute  sans  vertu  est  une  fleur  sans  parfum"  he 
said  indistinctly. 

Wanza  stared  back  at  him,  ignorant  of  the 
import  of  his  words ;  and  as  I  frowned  at  him,  he 
threw  up  both  hands  and  drifted  into  dribbling 
incoherence.  I  pointed  to  the  door  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  and  Wanza  went  to  it  swiftly,  opened 
it  quietly,  and  passed  through  to  Haidee. 

When  I  went  to  the  kitchen,  after  giving  the 
big  man  a  spoonful  of  the  medicine  the  doctor 
had  left,  I  found  Joey  on  the  floor,  with  his  arms 
about  the  collie's  neck. 

"I  can  trust  you,"  he  was  saying,  "I  can  trust 
those  eyes,  those  marble-est  eyes!  Why,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,  Jingles,  Bell  Brandon  could 
never  a  let  Mr.  David  know." 

The  stage  stopped  at  Cedar  Dale  late  that 
afternoon,  and  set  down  the  trained  nurse.  And 
our  curious  menage  was  complete. 

The  nurse  proved  to  be  a  sandy-haired,  long- 
nosed  pessimist,  a  woman  of  fifty,  capable,  but 
so  sunk  in  pessimism  that  Joey's  blandishments 
failed  to  win  her,  and  Jingles  stood  on  his  hind 
legs,  and  pawed  his  face  in  vain. 

All  through  supper  she  discoursed  of  microbes 
and  the  dangerous  minerals  in  spring  water. 
She  read  us  a  lesson  on  cleanliness,  repudiated  the 

129 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

soda  in  the  biscuits,  and  looked  askance  at  the 
liberal  amount  of  cream  I  took  in  my  coffee. 

"Cream  has  a  deleterious  effect  on  the  liver," 
she  informed  me,  looking  down  her  nose  sourly, 
while  Joey  wrinkled  his  small  face,  appeared 
distressed  at  the  turn  the  conversation  was  tak- 
ing, and  gasped  forth: 

"Why,  Mr.  David,  do  people  have  livers  same 
as  chickens?" 

Mrs.  Olds  sniffed,  Wanza  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  bit  her  lips,  and  I  shook  my  head 
at  Joey. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Olds,"  I  said  cheerfully,  "there 
is  nothing  the  matter  with  my  liver,  I  assure  you." 

She  looked  me  over  critically,  inquired  my  age, 
and  when  I  told  her  thirty-two,  remarked  darkly 
that  I  was  young  yet. 

When  Wanza  and  I  were  left  alone  in  the 
kitchen,  I  had  time  to  observe  Wanza's  hair.  It 
made  me  think  of  the  flaxen  curls  on  the  heads 
of  the  French  dolls  I  had  seen  displayed  in  the 
shop-windows  at  Christmas  time.  Each  curl  was 
crisp  and  glossy,  and  hung  in  orderly,  beauteous 
exactness,  and  the  little  part  in  the  centre  of  her 
head  was  even,  and  white  as  milk.  Palely  as  her 
hair  was  wont  to  gleam,  it  shone  still  paler  now, 
until  in  some  lights  it  was  almost  of  silvery  fair- 

130 


JINGLES  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE 

ness  and  indescribable  sheen.  Beneath  it,  her 
blue  eyes  looked  almost  black,  her  complexion 
had  the  rare  whiteness  of  alabaster.  There  could 
be  no  two  opinions  on  the  subject — Wanza  had 
washed  her  hair. 

I  knocked  together  a  crude  cot  covered  with  a 
bit  of  canvas,  on  which  Mrs.  Olds  and  Wanza 
were  to  take  turns  sleeping  in  the  kitchen,  and  I 
soldered  an  old  canteen  to  be  used  as  a  hot-water 
bottle  at  the  big  man's  feet.  And  I  did  sundry 
small  errands  that  Mrs.  Olds  required  of  me  be- 
fore I  was  dismissed  for  the  night.  But  when 
Joey  and  I  closed  the  kitchen  door  behind  us  and 
stole  away  in  the  darkness  beneath  the  yews  to 
our  new  sleeping  quarters  in  the  workshop,  I 
went  with  an  effulgent  glow  and  rapture  at  my 
heart.  She  was  beneath  my  roof.  She  was  eat- 
ing my  bread.  The  room  on  which  I  had  labored 
through  many  an  arduous  day  out  of  love  and 
compassion  for  Joey  had  become  a  haven  of  ref- 
uge for  my  wonder  woman. 


131 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   KICKSHAW 

THE  doctor  came  early  the  next  morning 
and  he  rendered  me  incredibly  favorable 
reports  of  both  his  patients ;  so  that  I  was 
able  to  buoy  myself  up  with  the  hope  of  seeing 
Haidee  before  many  days  had  passed.  She  sent 
me  a  series  of  charming  messages  by  Wanza 
throughout  the  day.  The  first  message  was  to 
the  effect  that  the  room  was  delicious  and  the  bed 
like  down.  Again — the  air  through  the  open 
windows  and  door  was  sweet  as  the  breath  of 
asphodel.  And  the  last  message  said  that  the 
outlook  through  the  windows  was  so  sylvan  that 
almost  she  expected  to  hear  the  pipes  of  Pan,  or 
see  a  faun  perched  upon  the  rocks,  or  a  Psyche  at 
the  pool. 

I  hugged  these  gracious  words  to  my  heart,  and 
began  work  at  once  on  a  reclining-chair  in  which 
Haidee  could  rest  during  her  convalescence,  and 
the  fashioning  of  two  little  crutches  of  cedar,  the 
doctor  having  confided  to  me  that  when  Haidee 

132 


THE  KICKSHAW 

left  her  bed  she  would  require  the  support  of 
crutches  for  a  week  or  two. 

The  second  day,  the  message  from  the  cedar 
room  thrilled  me:  "Tell  Mr.  Dale  that  I  have 
been  lifted  high  on  my  pillows  where  I  can  watch 
Joey  at  work  in  the  Dingle."  Later  on  the  ques- 
tion came:  "Joey  is  making  something.  What 
is  it?" 

Joey  was  passing  through  the  kitchen  when  I 
received  this  message.  I  called  to  him:  "What 
are  you  doing  in  the  Dingle,  Joey?" 

"Pooh,"  he  said,  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  "I'm 
not  doing  anything!" 

"Nothing  at  all,  Joey?" 

"I'm  just  covering  a  cedar  round  for  a — a 
hassock  for  her — Bell  Brandon's  feet  when  she 
sits  up.  I'm  covering  it  with  the  skin  of  that 
mink  you  trapped  last  fall." 

I  duly  reported  this  to  Wanza.  She  looked 
at  me,  tossed  her  head,  and  went  quickly  back  to 
the  cedar  room.  I  began  to  think  Mrs.  Olds' 
pessimism  was  infecting  her.  Certainly  my 
bright,  insouciant  Wanza  seemed  changed  to  me 
since  her  installation  at  Haidee's  bedside. 

I  received  messages  too,  from  the  sick  man, 
but  disjointed,  vague  outbursts  that  showed  his 
mind  was  still  wandering  in  the  realms  of  fantasy. 

133 


"Tell  my  host,"  he  begged  Mrs.  Olds,  "that 
I'm  a  sick  man — a  very  sick  man.  Tell  him  I 
say  I'm  a  gentleman — a  perfect  gentleman. 
Tell  him  he's  a  gentleman,  too.  Noblesse  oblige 
• — and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Olds  gathered  that  he  was  a  mining  man 
from  Alaska,  with  interests  in  the  Coeur  d'Alenes, 
and  that  his  name  was  Bailey.  She  had  dis- 
covered a  leather  wallet  in  his  coat  pocket  with  the 
name  in  gold  letters  on  the  flap,  and  his  linen  was 
marked  with  a  B.  Pending  absolute  certainty 
that  his  name  was  Bailey,  we  all,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Mrs.  Olds,  continued  to  designate  him 
"the  big  man";  and  as  days  went  on,  Joey  added 
to  this  and  called  him  the  big  bad  man,  for  his 
language  waxed  coarser.  He  was  almost  violent 
at  times,  and  I  was  glad  that  the  tiny  corridor 
separated  Haidee's  room  from  the  one  in  which 
he  lay. 

The  doctor  diagnosed  his  case  as  typhoid,  and 
promised  us  a  speedy  convalescence.  He  looked 
at  me  significantly  and  added:  "He'll  recover. 
But  when  he  goes  to  that  unknown  bourne, 
finally,  he  may  not  depart  by  a  route  as  respect- 
able by  far.  He's  a  periodical  drinker — about 
all  in.  Can't  stand  much  more." 

A  few  days  after  this  I  received  an  unexpected 


THE  KICKSHAW 

order  for  a  cedar  chest  from  a  writer  who  signed 
herself  Janet  Jones,  and  directed  that  the  chest 
when  completed,  should  be  sent  to  Spokane. 

"I  have  seen  your  cedar  chests,"  she  wrote. 
"And  how  I  want  one!  I  am  a  shut  in — and  I 
want  the  beauty  chest  in  my  boudoir,  because  it 
will  remind  me  of  the  cool,  green  cedars  in  the 
depth  of  the  forest,  of  wood  aisles  purpling  at 
twilight,  of  ferns  and  grass  and  all  the  plushy, 
dear,  delightful  things  that  bend  and  blow  and 
flaunt  themselves  in  the  summer  breeze.  When 
I  look  at  it,  I  am  sure  I  can  hear  again  the  voice 
of  the  tortuous,  swift-running,  shadowy  river  on 
whose  banks  it  was  made.  And  I  long  to  hear 
that  sound  again." 

The  check  she  enclosed  was  a  generous  one. 
The  letter  seemed  almost  a  sacred  thing  to  me. 
I  folded  it  carefully  and  laid  it  away,  and  not 
even  to  Joey  did  I  mention  the  order  I  had  re- 
ceived. But  I  began  work  at  once  on  the  cedar 
chest.  And  I  labored  faithfully,  and  with  in- 
finite relish.  The  check  was  a  material  help  to 
me,  and  something  prompted  me  to  lay  bare  my 
heart  and  tell  my  new  friend  so  in  the  note  of 
thanks  I  penned  her  that  night. 

"The  wood  paths  are  overrun  with  kinnikinic, 
lupine,  and  Oregon  grape  just  now,"  I  wrote, 

135 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"and  the  woods  are  in  their  greenest  livery.  The 
paint  brushes  are  just  coming  into  bloom  and  the 
white  flowers  on  the  salmon  berry  bushes  were 
never  so  large  before,  or  the  coral  honeysuckle  so 
fragrant.  My  senses  tell  me  this  is  so ;  but  there 
is  a  deeper  green  in  the  heart  of  the  woods,  a 
tenderer  purple  on  the  mountains,  because  of  one 
who  bides  temporarily  beneath  my  roof.  And 
because  of  her — oh,  kind  benefactress,  I  thank 
you  for  your  order,  for  your  praise,  and  for  your 
check!  I  am  poor — miserably  poor.  And  for 
the  first  time  in  eight  years  ashamed  of  it." 
The  answer  came  back  in  a  few  days : 
"Don't  be  ashamed!  Tell  me  of  her,  please." 
Because  the  hour  of  Haidee's  convalescence 
when  I  could  greet  her  face  to  face,  was  post- 
poned from  day  to  day,  and  because  my  thoughts 
were  full  of  her,  I  was  glad  to  answer  this  letter. 
But  after  all  I  told  Janet  Jones  very  little  of 
Haidee,  except  that  she  was  my  guest,  and  that 
Joey  and  I  called  her  our  Wonder  Woman,  and 
that  my  own  name  for  her  was  Haidee. 

Each  day  that  followed  was  well  rounded  out 
with  work.  The  workshop  proved  to  be  a  veri- 
table house  of  refuge  to  Joey  and  me,  whither 
we  fled  to  escape  Mrs.  Olds'  whining  voice  and 
bickering,  and  the  big  man's  unsavory  language. 

136 


THE  KICKSHAW 

Here  with  windows  wide  to  the  breeze  that  swept 
cool  and  clean  from  the  mountains  we  labored 
side  by  side,  forgetting  the  discord  within  the 
cabin,  realizing  only  that  it  is  good  to  live,  to 
labor  and  to  love. 

In  addition  to  my  work  on  the  cedar  chest  I 
was  carving  a  design  of  spirea  on  a  small  oak 
box,  which  when  completed  was  to  hold  Joey's 
few  but  highly  prized  kickshaws.  As  the  design 
approached  completion  I  observed  the  small  boy 
eyeing  it  almost  with  dissatisfaction  from  time  to 
time. 

I  was  unused  to  this  attitude  in  Joey,  and  one 
day  I  asked,  "Don't  you  like  it,  lad?" 

A  spray  of  the  graceful  spirea  lay  on  my  work 
bench.  He  picked  it  up,  caressed  it  gently,  and 
laid  it  aside. 

"Oh,  Mr.  David,"  he  said,  "I  do  think  spirea, 
the  pink  kind,  is  the  cunningest  bush  that  grows !" 

"I  had  reference  to  the  box,  Joey." 

His  eyes  met  mine  honestly.  A  flush  crept  up 
to  his  brow  through  the  tan. 

"I  almost  say  Gracious  Lord!  every  time  I 
look  at  it,  and  you  asked  me  not  to  say  that  any 
more,  Mr.  David.  It  must  be  'most  as  beau- 
tiful as  that  fairy  box  you  told  me  about  one 
day,  that  the  girl  carried  in  her  arms  when  the 

137 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

boatman  poled  her  across  that  black  river.     I  do 
think  you're  most  too  good  to  me." 

I  knew  then  that  my  boy  liked  the  box  beyond 
cavil. 

But  I  reached  the  heart  of  his  feeling  with 
regard  to  the  trifle  the  following  day.  As  I  bent 
over  my  work  he  said  tentatively : 

"I  think  we  ought  to  do  something  for  Wanza. 
She's  doing  a  lot  for  us,  isn't  she,  Mr.  David?" 

I  glanced  up.  Joey  was  sitting  cross-legged 
on  my  work  bench,  engaged  in  putting  burrs  to- 
gether in  the  shape  of  a  basket. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "Wanza  is  very  kind." 

"Then  if  you  don't  mind,  Mr.  David — really 
truly  don't  mind — I'd  like  to  give  the  kickshaw 
box  to  her." 

The  brown  eyes  that  came  up  to  mine  were  im- 
ploring, the  small  tanned  face  was  suddenly 
aquiver  with  emotion.  I  laid  my  tools  aside,  and 
looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window. 

"Wanza's  awfully  good  to  me,  Mr.  David," 
the  small  boy  continued.  "She's  put  patches  on 
my  overalls,  and  sewed  buttons  on  my  shirts,  and 
darned  my  stockings — and  the  other  day  she 
made  me  a  kite.  And  she  plays  cat's  cradle  with 
me,  and  brings  me  glass  marbles.  And  when  she 
gets  rich  she's  going  to  buy  me  a  gold-fish." 

138 


THE  KICKSHAW 

"What  a  formidable  list  of  good  deeds.  The 
box  is  Wanza's,"  I  declared,  facing  around. 
"We  will  present  it  to  her  this  evening." 

"Do  you  'spose  she  has  any  kickshaws  to  put 
in  it,  Mr.  David?" 

"Why— I  don't  know,  lad,  I  don't  know,"  I 
replied  musingly.  "It  seems  to  me  very 
probable." 

"Do  girls  have  kickshaws,  Mr.  David?" 

"Almost  every  one  has  some  sort  of  keepsake, 
Joey  lad." 

He  surveyed  his  burr  basket  with  disfavor,  tore 
it  apart  and  began  hurriedly  to  build  it  over. 

"Say  the  kickshaw  verse  for  me,  Mr.  David, 
please,  and  after  that  the  'Nine  Little  Goblins,' 
and  after  that  a  little  bit  of  'Tentoleena.' ' 

It  was  very  pleasant  there  in  the  shop.  The 
perfume  of  summer  was  about  us,  and  bird-song 
and  bee-humming  and  the  mellow  sound  of  the 
brook  blended  into  a  delicate  wood  symphony.  I 
looked  out  upon  the  swift  running,  sparkling, 
clear  river.  To  dip  boyishly  in  it  was  my  sudden 
desire.  The  leafy  green  of  the  banks  was  like- 
wise inviting.  Across  the  river  the  grey-blue 
meadows  stretched  away  to  meet  the  purple  foot 
hills.  I  hung  half  way  out  of  the  window  and 
recited  the  tuneful  little  rhyme  for  Joey : 

139 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Oh,  the  tiny  little  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae  me, 
'Tis  sweeter  than  the  sugar-plum  that  reepens  on  the 

tree, 

Wi'  denty  flavorin's  o'  spice  an'  musky  rosemarie, 
The  tiny  little  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae  me. 

Oh  I  love  the  tiny  kickshaw,  and  I  smack  my  lips 

wi'  glee, 

Aye  mickle  do  I  love  the  taste  o'  sic  a  luxourie, 
But  maist   I  love  the  lovin'  hands   that   could  the 

giftie  gie 
O'  the  tiny  little  kickshaw  that  Mither  sent  tae  me." 

Joey  was  a  rare  listener,  his  face  had  a  sparkle 
in  concentration  seldom  seen.  It  was  an  inspira- 
tion to  the  retailer.  Wherever  this  is  found,  to 
my  notion,  it  gives  to  a  face  an  unusual  distinction 
and  charm.  As  I  finished  he  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Mothers  gives  kickshaws  to  their  girls  and 
boys  'most  always,  I  'spose,"  he  murmured  ques- 
tioningly.  His  eyes  were  wistful,  and  hurt  me 
in  a  strange  way. 

"Almost  always,  I  think,  Joey." 

I  smiled  at  him,  and  he  smiled  back  bravely. 

"I'm  your  boy — almost  really  and  truly  your 
boy— ain't  I,  Mr.  David?" 

I  nodded. 

"Pooh,"  he  said  with  a  swagger,  "I'd  liever  be 
your  boy  than — than  anything!  You  give  me 

140 


THE  KICKSHAW 

kickshaws  and  make  me  magpie  cages,  and — and 
flutes  and  bow-guns,  and  you  builded  me  a 
bed—" 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  and  without  seeming  to 
look  at  him  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  tear  filled, 
and  that  he  was  winking  fast  and  furiously  to 
keep  the  drops  from  falling. 

"Now    then,"    I    said,    speaking    somewhat 
huskily,  "I  shall  give  you  'Nine  Little  Goblins.' ' 
Clearing  my  throat  I  began : 

"They  all  climbed  up  on  a  high  board  fence, 
Nine  little  goblins  with  green-glass  eyes — 
Nine  little  goblins  who  had  no  sense 
And  couldn't  tell  coppers  from  cold  mince  pies." 

I  finished  the  poem  and  went  on  to  "Ten- 
toleena,"  saying: 

"I  think  Mr.  Riley  has  intended  this  a  bit  more 
for  girls  than  for  boys,  however,  we  love  its  tinkle, 
don't  we,  Joey?" 

"Up  in  Tentoleena  Land — 

Tentoleena !     Tentoleena ! 
All  the  dollies,  hand  in  hand, 

Mina,  Nainie,  and  Serena, 
Dance  the  Fairy  fancy  dances, 
With  glad  songs  and  starry  glances." 

"If  I  was  a  girl — and  had  a  doll — I'd  never  let 
141 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

her  get  up  alone  at  Moon-dawn  and  go  out  and 
wash  her  face  in  those  great  big  dew-drops  with 
cream  on  'em.  Why — she  might  get  drownded! 
I  wouldn't  call  her  Christine  Braibry,  anyway — " 
Joey  delivered  himself  of  this  ultimatum  quite  in 
his  usual  manner.  And  feeling  somewhat  re- 
lieved I  inquired: 

"What  name  would  you  choose,  boy — Wanza 
or—" 

"Not  Wanza — no  girl's  name!  I  wouldn't 
have  a  girl-doll!  I'd  fix  it  up  in  pants  and  call 
it  Mr.  David." 

After  supper  that  evening  I  asked  Wanza  to 
come  to  the  workshop  with  Joey  and  me.  She 
gave  me  a  laughing  glance  as  I  held  open  the 
kitchen  door  for  her,  and  stood  teetering  in  in- 
decision at  the  sink  with  Joey  clinging  to  her 
skirt. 

"There  are  the  dishes  to  be  washed,  and  Mrs. 
Batter ly's  tea  to  be  carried  to  her,  and  the  milk 
pans  to  scald,  and — " 

"Wanza,"  Joey  cried,  "you  must  come!  It's 
a  surprise." 

She  danced  across  the  room,  tossed  her  apron 
on  to  a  chair,  and  rolled  down  her  sleeves.  Her 
eyes  glowed  suddenly  black  with  excitement,  her 
red  lips  quirked  at  the  corners.  She  tossed  her 


THE  KICKSHAW 

head,  and  all  her  snarled  mop  of  hair  writhed  and 
undulated  about  her  spirited  face.  She  sprang 
outside  with  the  lightness  of  a  kitten  followed  by 
Joey,  and  I  closed  the  door  carefully  at  Mrs. 
Olds'  instigation,  and  followed  her  to  the  yew 
path. 

The  heavy-blossomed  service  bushes  hedged  the 
path  like  a  flowered  wall,  silver  shadows  lay 
around  us,  but  through  the  fretwork  of  tree- 
branches  we  saw  a  mauve  twilight  settling  down 
over  the  valley.  The  river  was  a  twisting  purple 
cord.  In  the  violet  sky  a  half -lit  crescent  moon 
was  swimming  like  a  fairy  canoe  afloat  on  a 
mythical  sea.  All  objects  were  soft  to  the  sight 
— thin  and  shadowy.  The  spike-like  leaves 
above  our  heads  glistened  ghostily,  the  trunks  of 
trees  bulked  like  curling  ominous  shapes  in  the 
vista  before  us.  Puffs  of  wind  caused  the  maples 
to  make  faint,  pattering  under-breaths  of  sound. 

We  stood  on  the  miniature  bridge  for  a 
moment.  The  reeds  were  shooting  up  in  the  bed 
of  the  spring ;  and  as  we  stood  on  the  bridge  they 
were  almost  waist  high  about  us.  A  tule  wren 
flew  from  among  them,  perched  on  a  nearby  cot- 
tonwood,  and  gave  a  series  of  short  wild  notes 
for  our  edification.  It  flirted  about  on  its  perch, 
with  many  a  bob  and  twitch  as  we  watched  it,  ap- 

143 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

parently  scolding  at  us  for  daring  to  approach 
so  close  to  its  habitat. 

And  we  stood  there  in  the  musical,  colorful 
twilight,  my  thoughts  flew  to  Haidee,  and  I  asked 
Wanza  how  she  was  faring. 

"Well  enough,"  she  retorted,  with  a  swift  back 
flinging  of  her  blonde  head. 

"Well  enough  means  very  well,  does  it, 
Wanza?" 

"If  you  can't  make  me  out,  Mr.  Dale,  I  guess 
I  better  quit  talking.  Seems  like  you  never  used 
to  have  no  trouble." 

"I  believe  I  am  growing  obtuse,"  I  replied 
lightly.  And  led  the  way  across  the  bridge  to  the 
shop  without  further  ado. 

Had  I  dreamed  that  Wanza  would  have  been 
so  affected  by  the  simple  gift  I  tendered,  I  doubt 
if  I  would  have  had  sufficient  temerity  to  present 
it  to  her.  I  did  this  with  a  flourish,  saying: 

"You  have  been  so  kind  to  Joey  and  me, 
Wanza,  that  we  beg  you  to  accept  this  little  kick- 
shaw case  in  token  of  our  appreciation.  Joey 
hunted  out  the  finest  specimens  of  spirea  for  me, 
and  I  carved  the  lid,  as  you  see,  and  cut  your 
initials  here  in  the  corner." 

Ah,  the  light  in  the  brilliant  deep  blue  eyes 
raised  to  mine!  the  smile  on  the  tender  lips,  the 

144 


THE  KICKSHAW 

sobbing  breath  with  which  she  spoke.  I  was 
stirred  and  vaguely  abashed. 

"You  did  this  for  me — for  me,"  she  repeated, 
laughing,  and  shaking  her  head,  and  all  but  weep- 
ing. She  clasped  the  box  close  to  her  girlish 
breast  with  a  huddling  movement  of  her  arms, 
sank  her  chin  upon  it,  caressed  the  smooth  wood 
with  her  cheek.  "It's  beautiful,  beautiful  1  Oh, 
thank  you,  Mr.  Dale,  thank  you!"  Joey  was 
cuddling  against  her  shoulder  and  she  put  her 
arm  out  after  a  moment,  took  him  into  her  em- 
brace and  kissed  him  with  a  soft  lingering  pres- 
sure of  her  lips  against  his. 

When  she  stood  upright  at  length  her  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles,  and  though  I  spied  a  tear  on 
her  lashes,  it  was  with  a  ringing  laugh  that  she 
said: 

"I  know  what  a  box  is,  and  I  guess  I  know  a 
case  when  I  see  it,  but  you'll  have  to  tell  me  what 
a  kickshaw  is,  Mr.  Dale." 

I  laughed  heartily.  And  then  Joey  would 
have  me  recite  Riley's  delicious  little  rhyme. 
The  evening  ended  pleasantly  for  us  all.  But  it 
left  me  with  food  for  musing.  Yes,  I  said  to  my- 
self, Wanza  was  kind — she  had  ever  been  kind 
to  Joey  and  me.  Had  I  been  too  cavalier  in  my 
treatment  of  her?  Remembering  her  sudden 

145 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

softening,  her  appreciation  of  my  small  gift,  I 
decided  this  was  so.  In  future,  I  assured  myself, 
I  would  show  her  every  consideration.  Wanza 
was  growing  up.  She  was  no  child  to  be 
hectored,  and  bantered,  cajoled  and  then  neg- 
lected. No !  My  treatment  of  her  must  be  uni- 
formly courteous  hereafter. 


146 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN   SHOP  AND  DINGLE 

IT  seemed  to  me  during  the  next  few  days 
that  Wanza  bloomed  magically;  as  she 
worked  she  chirruped,  her  feet  were  light,  a 
bird  seemed  to  sing  in  her  breast.  I  knew  not 
to  what  to  attribute  the  change.  She  was  still 
the  debonair  girl,  but  she  was  wholly  woman ;  and 
she  was  vital  as  a  spirit,  beautiful  as  a  flower. 
We  grew  vastly  companionable. 

We  walked  together  along  the  flowery  river- 
ways  in  the  twilight;  at  night  we  watched  the 
ribbons  of  clouds  tangle  into  pearly  folds  across 
the  moon's  face,  and  the  stars  grow  bright  in  the 
purple  urn  of  heaven.  Mornings  we  climbed  the 
heights  and  gathered  wild  strawberries  for 
Haidee's  luncheon,  and  often  in  the  late  after- 
noon Wanza  would  come  to  the  shop  and  I  would 
help  her  with  her  studies. 

It  was  pleasant,  too,  to  take  the  glasses,  and 
penetrate  deep  into  the  heart  of  the  greenwood 
and  sit  immovable  among  the  shrubbery,  bird- 

147 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

spying,  as  Joey  called  it.  It  was  Wanza's  de- 
light to  see  me  stand  perfectly  still -in  a  certain 
spot  near  the  shop,  where  a  bed  of  fragrant  old- 
fashioned  pinks  frequently  absorbed  my  atten- 
tion, and  wait  for  the  sparrows  and  nuthatches 
that  often  came  to  alight  on  my  head.  Inside 
my  shop  I  was  tending  a  young  cedar  waxwing 
that  had  dropped  at  my  feet  from  a  cherry  tree 
near  the  cabin  one  morning.  Joey  had  given  the 
bird  assiduous  attention,  and  was  overjoyed  when 
a  few  days  later  he  found  it  friendly  enough  to 
sit  on  his  hand.  We  named  the  bird,  Silly  Cedar. 
And  I  made  him  a  roomy  cage  of  slender  cedar 
sticks.  He  seldom  inhabited  the  cage,  however, 
choosing  rather  to  flutter  freely  about  the  work- 
shop. 

Wanza's  joy  in  the  birds  was  a  pleasure  to 
witness.  I  was  at  my  work  bench  one  morning, 
when  chancing  to  glance  through  the  open 
window  I  saw  a  charming  picture.  The  girl 
stood  by  the  bed  of  clove  pinks,  a  veritable  pink 
and  white  Dresden  shepherdess  in  one  of  the 
stiffest,  most  immaculate  of  her  cotton  frocks,  her 
hair  an  unbound,  pale-flaming  banner  about  her 
shoulders.  On  her  head  was  poised  a  nuthatch. 

It  was  the  expression  of  her  face  that  capti- 
vated me, — smiling,  rapt,  almost  prayerful,  as  if 

148 


IN  SHOP  AND  DINGLE 

invoking  the  spirit  of  all  aerial  things.  Both 
arms  were  out  as  though  she  were  balancing  the 
dainty  object  that  perched  so  delicately  upon  her 
head.  In  every  fibre  she  appeared  electrified,  as 
though  about  to  soar  with  the  birds.  Again  I 
had  that  sensation  of  glimpsing  beneath  the  girl's 
casual  self  and  finding  a  transfigured  being. 

The  bird  fluttered  away  as  I  gazed,  Wanza 
stooped,  gathering  the  flowers,  and  I  went  out 
to  her. 

She  flirted  the  pinks  beneath  her  chin  as  she 
looked  up  at  me. 

"I've  been  up  since  five,"  she  laughed.  Even 
her  laugh  was  subdued. 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  five?'' 
I  asked  idly. 

She  opened  a  box  that  lay  on  the  grass  at  her 
side. 

"I've  been  up  on  Nigger  Head  after  these.  I 
saw  them  yesterday  when  I  went  to  old  Lund- 
quist's  to  take  him  a  bit  of  cottage  cheese  I'd 
made.  See !" 

I  looked  as  she  bade  me.  Within  the  box  were 
some  fine  specimens  of  ferns  and  swamp  laurel, 
and  a  rare  white  blossom  that  I  had  never  seen 
in  western  woods.  An  airy,  dainty,  frosty- white, 
tiny  star-flower. 

149 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"They  are  for  you.  I  heard  you  wishing  for 
swamp  laurel." 

"You  are  very,  very  kind,  Wanza,"  I  replied. 

I  lifted  the  laurel,  but  my  eyes  were  on  the 
white  flower,  and  my  heart  was  over  charged, 
and  as  I  looked  a  blur  crossed  my  vision  and  I 
could  not  see  the  waxen  petals.  But  I  saw  an- 
other woods,  lush  and  sweet,  hard  by  a  southern 
homestead,  I  heard  the  darkies  singing  in  the 
fields  adjoining,  and  the  sound  of  the  river  run- 
ning between  red  clay  banks.  I  saw  my  mother's 
smile. 

I  felt  weak  at  that  moment.  I  needed  to  grip 
hard  a  friendly  hand.  "Nothing,  not  God,  is 
greater  to  one  than  one's  self  is,  and  whoever 
walks  a  furlong  without  sympathy  walks  to  his 
own  funeral  drest  in  his  shroud."  Walt  Whit- 
man spoke  truly.  Someway  I  knew  that 
Wanza's  sympathy  was  true  and  exquisite,  that 
her  understanding  was  profound.  I  had  never 
before  thought  of  this,  but  suddenly  I  knew  that 
it  was  so.  She  tendered  me  the  little  white 
flower  on  her  open  palm,  and  I  reached  out  and 
took  it  and  I  took  her  hand,  saying: 

"You  are  a  good  girl,  Wanza  Lyttle." 

My  tongue  was  ineffectual  to  say  what  I  would 
have  said,  and  so  I  said  nothing.  The  white  of 

150 


IN  SHOP  AND  DINGLE 

her  face  crimsoned  as  I  held  her  hand.  Her  blue 
eyes  said  a  thousand  things  I  could  not  sense. 
But  her  lips  merely  murmured,  "What  is  the 
swamp  laurel  for,  Mr.  Dale?" 

"I  want  to  make  a  design  of  laurel  for  a  tray  I 
intend  to  carve.  You  see,  Wanza,  I  am  begin- 
ning already  to  think  of  the  holiday  trade.  At 
Christmas  I  shall  send  some  of  my  work  to  the 
city  to  an  art  store  there." 

We  passed  on  to  the  workshop,  and  presently 
Joey  joined  us  there. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  David,"  he  said  as  he 
entered,  "that  to-day  is  yesterday." 

I  smiled  at  him  appreciatively.  I  had  come  to 
call  Joey  my  philosopher  in  knee  breeches.  He 
resumed,  puffing  out  his  cheeks  in  his  character- 
istic way,  "  'Cause  I  been  so  busy.  I  guess  if  a 
body  was  busy  enough  there  wouldn't  be  no 
time." 

"We  make  our  own  limitations,  Joey,"  I  said, 
bending  over  my  cedar  chest  that  was  all  but 
finished.  "The  Now  is  the  principal  thing,  boy." 

"Mrs.  Olds  is  the  queerest  lady,"  he  went  on, 
"always  watching  the  clock.  An'  she  don't  like 
our  ways,  Mr.  David — she  said  so!  She  says 
we're  slip-shod.  Hit  and  miss,  she  says,  that's 
the  way  we  live.  My,  she's  funny!  At  night 

151 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

she  says,  'Well,  I'm  glad  this  day  is  over,'  an'  in 
the  morning  she  says,  'Dear  me!  I  thought  it 
would  never  come  morning!  I'm  glad  the  night 
is  gone.'  I  said  to  her — I  said  to  her—  Joey 
paused,  having  used  up  his  breath,  and  requiring 
a  fresh  supply. 

"Go  slowly,"  I  advised.  "What  did  you  say, 
Joey?  Get  a  good  breath  and  tell  Wanza  and 
me." 

"I  said:  'How  can  you  hate  both  times?  It 
keeps  you  busy  hating,  don't  it?'  An'  if  you're 
busy  hating,  Mr.  David,  what  time  do  you  get  to 
feed  the  birds,  an'  watch  the  squirrels,  an'  make 
burr  baskets  and  cedar  chests,  an'  bow  guns  and 
flutes?" 

Joey  put  his  head  on  one  side  and  looked  up 
at  me  inquiringly  out  of  his  bright  shrewd  eyes. 

"Not  much  time,  I'm  afraid,  Joey,"  I  re- 
sponded, knowing  that  he  expected  a  reply." 

"Of  course  not.  Come  here,  Silly  Cedar,"  he 
called  softly  to  the  Waxwing.  He  gave  a 
musical  whistling  note,  and  the  bird,  that  was 
perched  on  the  work  bench,  flew  to  him  and 
alighted  on  his  outstretched  hand.  He  made  a 
picture  that  I  was  to  remember  in  other  sadder 
days,  standing  thus,  holding  the  bird,  scarce  mov- 
ing, so  great  was  his  ecstasy. 

152 


Very  soon  after  this  the  chair  reached  com- 
pletion. Upholstered  in  burlap  and  stuffed  with 
moss,  it  stood  in  the  small  rustic  pergola  outside 
the  cedar  room,  awaiting  Haidee.  Joey's  has- 
sock rested  beside  it.  And  at  last  one  day  after 
I  had  worked  myself  into  a  state  of  fine  frenzy 
at  the  delay  I  was  told  that  she  was  sitting  in 
state  in  the  new  chair  awaiting  me.  I  hurried  to 
the  Dingle,  parted  the  underbrush,  and  stood 
gazing  at  my  wonder  woman  before  she  was 
aware  of  my  coming. 

She  sat  leaning  back  in  the  big  chair.  She 
looked  very  weary  and  pale  as  she  reclined  there. 
The  rough  silk  of  her  robe  was  blue — the  rare 
blue  sometimes  seen  in  paintings  of  old  Ma- 
donnas. Her  lovely  throat  was  bare.  Her 
creamy  hands  with  their  pink-tinted  nails  lay  idly 
clasped  in  her  lap ;  and  her  feet,  resting  on  Joey's 
hassock,  were  shod  in  strange  Oriental  flat -heeled 
slippers  with  big  drunken-looking  rosettes  on  the 
toes. 

"You  are  quite  recovered?"  I  asked,  stepping 
forward. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dale!"  she  cried,  and  seemed  unable 
to  proceed.  And  I  found  myself  bending  above 
her  with  both  of  her  hands  in  mine,  looking  down 
into  her  shadowy,  mysterious  eyes. 

153 


I  summoned  my  voice  at  last,  and  spoke  rather 
indistinctly:  "Joey  and  I  have  been  awaiting 
your  convalescence  impatiently.  Joey  has  been 
very  anxious  about  his  Bell  Brandon,  as  he  calls 

you." 

She  still  sat  with  her  hands  in  mine,  and  she 
looked  up  at  me  with  a  strangely  quiet  gaze  and 
replied  gravely:  "I  like  Joey's  name  for  me. 
Does  he  really  call  me  that?" 

"Why,"  I  said,  "I  have  even  ventured  to  call 
you  so  in  mentioning  you  to  Joey." 

I  released  her  hands  and  seated  myself  on  the 
steps  below  her.  There  was  a  silence.  The  sun 
slipped  behind  a  cloud.  The  shadows  in  the 
Dingle  deepened  to  invisible  green  velvet.  In 
the  perfume  and  hush  I  could  hear  my  heart  beat. 
It  was  very  still.  A  cat-bird  called  from  the 
thicket,  the  hum  of  bees  buzzing  among  the 
clover  in  the  meadow  came  to  us  with  a  sabbath 
sound. 

Haidee  looked  at  me  and  smiled.  "It  is  very 
restful  here.  How  is  your  other  patient  pro- 
gressing?" 

"Very  well,  I  believe." 

"This  is  a  splendid  sanatorium.  I  had  some 
wonderful  dreams  in  that  cedar  room." 

"I  should  like  to  hear  about  them.  I  am 
154 


IN  SHOP  AND  DINGLE 

curious  to  know  what  dreams  the  room  induced," 
I  answered,  with  rather  too  much  impressment, 
I'm  afraid. 

She  leaned  her  head  against  the  burlapped 
chair-back  and  lowered  her  lashes  against  her 
cheek.  I  studied  her  face.  During  her  illness 
she  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  subtle  transfor- 
mation. There  were  lines  about  her  drooping 
eyes,  something  cold  and  almost  austere  in  the 
expression  of  her  face  that  I  had  not  noticed  be- 
fore. She  seemed  farther  from  me  than  she  had 
yet  seemed — immeasurably  remote. 

"The  dreams  were  very  good  dreams — restful 
dreams." 

"Yes,"  I  said  gently. 

"They  were  dreams  of  homey  things — simple, 
plain  things — and  yet  there  was  a  zest  in  them — 
a  repose — a  complete  forgetfulness." 

"Forgetfulness?" 

"Yes.  Isn't  forgetfulness  the  Nirvana  of  the 
Hindu?  If  we  remember  we  may  regret.  If  we 
have  no  thought  backward  or  forward,  we  are 
blissfully  quiescent." 

I  watched  a  yellow  warbler  preening  itself  on 
a  swinging  bough  of  a  tamarack.  "It  is  easier 
to  have  no  thought  forward — perhaps,"  I  said 
slowly  after  a  pause. 

155 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"You  think  so,  too?  I  am  sure  of  it.  The 
past  is  an  insistent  thing — a  ghoulish  thing — 
waving  shrouded  arms  over  the  present.  To  for- 
get!— ah,  there's  the  rub." 

She  spoke  precipitately,  turning  her  head  rest- 
lessly this  way  and  that  on  the  rough  cushion. 
The  line  of  her  throat,  the  tiny  fluffy  ringlets  at 
the  roots  of  her  hair,  the  curve  of  her  lovely  cheek, 
stirred  my  blood  strangely. 

"Tell  me  something  more  of  yourself,"  I 
blurted  out  abruptly. 

She  started.  Her  eyes  grew  bleak,  worn  with 
memories,  it  seemed;  her  face  that  had  shone 
warmly  pale,  changed  and  stiffened  to  marble. 
She  answered  in  a  cold,  slight  voice:  "There  is 
so  little  to  tell."  After  awhile  she  added: 
"Perhaps  some  day  you  will  tell  me  your  story." 

I  sat  and  watched  the  yellow  warbler,  reflect- 
ing on  the  strange  relief  it  would  be  to  recite  to 
sympathetic  ears  my  pent-up  dreary  tale,  my 
baleful  tale  of  a  scourging  past,  of  present  lone- 
liness and  hard  plain  living.  It  was  the  sort  of 
tale  that  is  never  told — unless  the  teller  be  a 
driveller.  I  laughed  cheerlessly,  and  someway 
the  brightness  of  the  hour  was  clouded  by  the 
phantom  of  the  past  that  Haidee's  words  had 

156 


IN  SHOP  AND  DINGLE 

invoked.  And  the  phantom  dared  to  stand  even 
at  the  gate  of  the  future  and  demand  toll,  so  that 
neither  past,  present  nor  future  was  a  thing  to 
rejoice  in. 

My  face  must  have  grown  grim.  I  clenched 
and  unclenched  my  hand  on  my  knee.  Haidee's 
voice  continued:  "But  in  the  meantime  you 
don't  know  me — the  real  every  day  me — and  I 
don't  know  you — the  real  you;  and  it's  interest- 
ing, rather,  to  speak  to  each  other,  like  sliding 
wraith-like  ships  that  pass  to  opposite  ports. 
We  fling  our  voices  out — then  darkness  again — 
and  a  silence." 

"I  am  what  I  am,"  I  answered  quickly. 

She  nodded  concurrence.  "Dear  me!  Of 
course.  But  you  were  not  always  what  you  are 
now.  That's  the  point.  And,  some  day,  I  shall 
persuade  you  to  tell  me  all." 

I  answered  pointedly:  "In  the  words  of 
Olivia,  'you  might  do  much.' ' 

She  laughed  oddly,  almost  amusedly,  at  my 
vehemence,  and  swayed  back  a  little  from  me  as 
I  held  out  my  hand.  "Good-bye,"  I  said,  "for 
to-day."  And  when  she  yielded  me  her  hand  I 
pressed  it  lightly  and  let  it  go. 

I  had  never  tried,  until  that  moment,  to  analyze 
157 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

the  quality  of  my  sentiment  for  Haidee.  I  had 
been  filled  with  a  vague  romantic  idealism  where 
my  wonder  woman  was  concerned,  but  suddenly 
I  was  restless,  and  dissatisfied  with  idealising.  I 
wanted  to  know  Judith  Batter ly — the  real 
woman.  I  wanted  to  pierce  the  veil  of  mysticism 
in  which  she  was  wrapped.  I  was  not  content 
with  the  artificiality  of  our  discourse.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  failed  to  strike  a  note  truly  sound  in  any 
of  our  talks.  The  real  woman  eluded  me.  I 
could  not  bring  Haidee  down  to  my  plane  from 
the  dream-world  where  only  she  seemed  to 
function.  She  was  ever  remote.  And  I  wanted 
to  understand  fully  my  feeling  for  her. 

When  I  fell  asleep  that  night,  dreams  of 
Haidee  and  Wanza  were  commingled.  Once  I 
awoke,  dressed  completely,  and  walked  outside 
the  workshop  in  the  clear,  balmy  air  of  the  night. 
I  lay  down  on  the  river  bank  and  watched  a  par- 
ticularly big  bright  star  that  hung  just  over  the 
crest  of  Nigger  Head.  I  thought  of  Wanza — 
of  her  new  and  gentler  ways  that  were  replacing 
the  old  crisp  brightness  of  demeanor — and  I 
smiled.  I  thought  of  Haidee — and  I  sighed. 
Then  my  thoughts  flew  to  the  kickshaw  case  I 
had  given  Wanza  and  her  reception  of  it,  and  to 
the  swamp  laurel  she  had  risen  at  daybreak  to 

158 


IN  SHOP  AND  DINGLE 

gather  for  me,  and  thinking  of  these  things  I 
went  back  to  the  workshop  and  crept  in  beside 
Joey,  and  with  my  arm  about  the  lad  slept  dream- 
lessly  till  morning. 


159 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DEFICIENCIES 

ABOUT  this  time  I  wrote  in  my  diary: 
"A  man  in  love  is  an  oaf.  How 
awkward  and  lumbering  he  is  in  the 
presence  of  his  Dulcinea.  How  undesirable  and 
like  a  clod  away  from  her.  He  is  a  churl  to 
every  one  but  the  one  woman.  I  have  been  out 
in  the  sun-splashed  forest  searching  for  rare 
specimens  of  the  wood  anemone  for  my  wonder 
woman.  My  search  absorbed  my  morning,  and 
I  quite  forgot  that  I  had  promised  Wanza  to 
ride  to  town  for  flour  for  the  weekly  baking.  I 
dreamed  and  mused  the  hours  away  among  the 
basaltic  boulders  in  a  strange  grove  of  twisted 
yews,  where  nereid  green  pools  lie  in  little  hollows 
and  maiden  hair  springs  up  through  the  gold- 
brown  moss  carpet.  This  grove  has  long  been 
a  favorite  of  mine.  It  has  a  classical  aspect; 
there  is  something  about  it  that  suggests  a  train 
of  mythological  conceptions.  I  feel  sure  that  the 
great  God  Pan  must  be  fashioning  his  flute 

160 


DEFICIENCIES 

among  the  rushes  in  the  bed  of  the  spring.  In 
the  wind's  sibilance  I  hear  the  skirl  of  the  Pan- 
dean pipes.  I  recall  the  divine  huntress,  and 
summon  up  visions  of  Iris,  the  goddess  of  many 
colors. 

This  morning  the  wood  spaces  were  filled  with 
visions  of  Haidee.  She  smiled  at  me  from  be- 
hind the  clumps  of  bracken  and  huckleberry,  her 
eyes  beamed  at  me  from  the  hearts  of  the  flow- 
ers. The  clouds  were  her  garments,  the  blue 
sky  her  soul.  As  Dante  walked  dreaming  of 
Beatrice  so  went  I  with  Haidee  ever  before  me. 

Love  is  a  rejuvenating  precious  thing.  Even 
a  hopeless  love  softens  the  fibres  of  one's  entire 
being,  and  straightens  the  warped  soul  of  one. 
But  I  must  not  reach  out  toward  Love!  I  must 
renounce.  I  must  go  on  alone,  like  a  battered, 
wrecked,  drifting  derelict.  I  have  thought  the 
blackest  part  of  my  life  behind  me.  I  have  come 
to  look  forward  too  much.  I  have  vented  my 
heavy  heart,  and  found  solace  in  work  and  books. 
And  nowl  I  must  live  through  the  culminating 
sorrow.  Is  all  my  life  to  be  one  great  renuncia- 
tion? I  find  myself  rebelling.  I  have  been  too 
much  the  helpless  victim  of  circumstances.  For 
me  Ossa  has  been  heaped  on  Pelion. 

I  have  said,  "If  I  can  but  avoid  comparing  my 
161 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

lot  with  what  it  might  have  been,  I  can  be  a  man." 
I  have  repeated:  "I  swear  the  earth  shall  surely 
be  complete  to  him  or  her  who  shall  be  complete. 
The  earth  remains  jagged  and  broken  only  to 
him  or  her  who  remains  jagged  and  broken."  I 
have  said  all  this  to  myself  times  innumerable. 
And  now  what  shall  I  say  to  myself?  I  can 
scarcely  whisper  to  myself,  "Courage!"  I  am 
baffled,  balked,  stunned.  Oh,  what  do  I  signify 
in  the  scheme  of  things!  I  am  a  bit  of  washed 
spindrift.  Glad  should  I  be  to  surrender  the 
quick  of  being.  If  it  were  not  for  work! — 
Through  labor  only  I  come  near  to  God,  the 
master  artizan,  who  labors  tirelessly  and  marvel- 
ously. 

After  making  this  entry  in  my  diary  I  gained 
an  unexpected  surcease  from  wearied  thoughts. 
I  went  on  with  my  life  calmly  enough,  doing  the 
things  nearest  to  hand,  eating  three  good  meals 
a  day  as  a  man  will,  writing  on  my  novel  evenings, 
and  sleeping  normally,  with  Joey  curled  into  a 
warm  little  ball  at  my  side.  In  some  strange  way 
after  my  descent  into  Avernus  I  became  tranquil 
in  every  pulse.  After  brooding  over  much  I  sat 
back,  figuratively  speaking,  and  thought  of 
nothing,  but  the  simple  joy  of  being.  Sunlight 
was  pure  gold,  the  dew  silver,  each  twilight  a 

162 


DEFICIENCIES 

benediction,  each  dawn  a  natal  hymn.  I  man- 
aged so  that  I  saw  very  little  of  Haidee,  paying 
my  respects  to  her  once  a  day,  and  pleading  work 
as  an  excuse  if  invited  to  linger  in  the  shady 
Dingle  where  she  sat  with  her  work  or  a  book.  I 
contemplated  sending  Joey  to  school  in  the 
autumn,  and  a  portion  of  each  day  I  devoted  to 
teaching  the  small  lad  spelling.  His  remarks 
concerning  the  rite  were  often  pungent.  He 
persevered  to  please  me,  but  I  could  see  that  in 
his  heart  he  pitied  me  for  my  zealous  attempts  on 
his  behalf. 

"When  people  can  say  things  what's  the  use 
of  spelling?"  he  asked  one  day.  He  held  his 
book  upside  down,  his  eyes  fixed  longingly  on  a 
skimming  prismatic  cloud  of  butterflies  beyond 
the  workshop  door.  "I  can  say  God — what's  the 
good  of  spelling  it?"  I  did  not  respond,  and 
evidently  anxious  to  convince  me  further,  he 
added :  "Yes.  And  one  time  once — oh,  when  I 
was  teenty,  Mr.  David,  I  thought  I  saw  him." 

"Do  you  think  now  that  you  saw  him,  Joey?" 
I  questioned,  half  smiling. 

"Well,"  he  replied  slowly,  as  if  pondering  the 
matter,  "I  was  sure  then,  Mr.  David." 

"Where  did  you  see  the — er — person  whom 
you  believed  to  be  God?"  I  asked. 

163 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"In  the  village." 

"Did  he  speak  to  you,  Joey?" 

Joey  looked  at  me  slyly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  David,"  he  whispered  deprecatingly, 
"do  you  'spose  I'd  'spect  him  to — when  I'm  a 
worm?" 

I  went  on  with  the  lesson,  vaguely  wondering 
what  sort  of  mind  the  lady  who  taught  Joey  at 
Sunday  School  was  possessed  of. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  lesson,  Joey  observed : 
"Mrs.  Olds  says  our  cabin  is  full  of  de — de- 
ficiencies, Mr.  David.  What  do  de — deficiencies 
do?" 

"Deficiencies  let  flies  in,  and  permit  mice  to 
molest  the  flour  barrel, — deficiencies  make  chim- 
neys smoke,  and  floors  creak." 

"Hm!  Are  de — deficiencies  holes,  Mr. 
David?" 

"In  a  sense,  lad." 

"Where'd  be  the  fun,  though,"  my  loyal  lad 
cried  out,  "if  there  weren't  no  holes  in  cabins. 
There'd  be  nothing  to  patch.  An'  you'd  never 
see  a  rat  poke  his  cunning  head  through  the  wall 
cold  nights  when  you  sit  by  the  fire.  Pooh!  I 
like  de — deficiencies." 

That  very  day  I  went  about  setting  what  traps 
I  had  to  catch  the  rodents  that  were  destroying 

164 


DEFICIENCIES 

Mrs.  Olds'  peace  of  mind.  And  I  began  the 
manufacture  of  others.  I  also  mended  the  screen 
doors,  and  purchased  a  package  of  mosquito 
netting  from  Wanza's  cart,  for  the  windows. 

It  was  a  curious  menage  I  captained.  I  found 
myself  grinning  from  time  to  time  as  I  took 
orders  from  Mrs.  Olds.  Although  I  was  in  love 
with  Haidee,  and  although  Joey  was  an  enter- 
taining companion,  and  although  I  found  Mrs. 
Olds'  pessimism  a  curious  study,  it  was  to  Wanza 
that  I  turned  most  frequently  for  comfort  and 
advice  during  these  trying  days.  We  had  many 
a  rueful  laugh  together  at  Mrs.  Olds'  expense. 

"The  whole  thing  with  her,  I  do  think,"  Wanza 
said,  one  day,  "is  drawing  her  pay." 

But  Wanza  maligned  her.  Mrs.  Olds  was  a 
rare  nurse,  conscientious  to  a  fault.  And  she  re- 
ceived little  enough  pay  from  the  big  man,  I 
knew.  Wanza  had  a  cot  in  the  cedar  room  now, 
and  Mrs.  Olds  was  able  to  rest  the  greater  part 
of  the  night,  as  her  patient's  condition  improved. 


165 


I 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

N  due  time  I  received  another  communica- 
tion from  my  unknown  friend.  Very  brief 
it  was.  It  said: 


"I  appreciate  your  confidence.  I  am  glad  to  know 
of  Haidee.  But  I  want  still  more  to  know  of  yourself. 
Can  you  trust  me?" 

I  did  not  answer  this  at  once,  revolving  it  in 
my  mind.  A  few  days  later  I  wrote  in  this  wise : 

"There  is  little  to  know,  kind  friend.  Eight  years 
ago,  when  I  was  twenty-four,  I  came  to  Idaho.  I  took 
up  a  homestead  on  the  Coeur  d'  Alene  River.  I  proved 
up  on  it,  and  I  have  sold  all  but  sixteen  acres.  I  have 
worked  hard.  I  have  grown  horny-handed,  weather- 
beaten  and  a  bit  gray.  I  live  in  a  flannel  shirt  and 
corduroy  trousers,  and  I  eat  off  a  pine  table  in  the 
kitchen  of  a  three-roomed  shack.  Lately,  I  have  de- 
veloped into  a  craftsman.  It  is  a  sordid  enough  tale — • 
is  it  not?" 

Conversations  with  Haidee  were  still  infre- 
quent. Wanza  ordinarily  shared  them,  and  Joey 
was  nearly  always  present. 

We  were  seated  in  a  group  about  the  pool  in 
166 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

the  Dingle,  one  morning,  Haidee  in  her  chair, 
Joey  at  her  feet  with  Jingles  asleep  at  his  side, 
Wanza  on  the  brink  of  the  pool  with  her  tatting, 
gazing  in  from  time  to  time  at  the  reflection  of 
her  pale  blonde  loveliness,  while  I,  seated  on  a 
stump  of  a  pine-tree,  was  carving  a  bow-gun  for 
Joey. 

There  was  a  white  syringa  bush  above  Haidee 
that  was  dropping  pale  flowers  on  her  head. 
They  seemed  to  me  like  perfumed  petals  of  Para- 
dise. I  caught  one  as  it  fell,  smiling  into  her 
tranquil  eyes.  I  said  to  myself  that  with  each 
succeeding  day  Haidee's  voice  grew  lighter,  her 
laughter  more  frequent,  her  expression  brighter. 

As  we  sat  there,  an  entrancing  harmony  arose 
about  us.  Waves  of  ecstatic  melody  swelled  and 
softened  and  swelled  again  through  the  green 
fragrant  woods.  Trills  on  one  hand,  deep 
throaty  mellow  carolings  on  the  other.  The 
thrush,  the  warbler,  the  sparrow  joined  in  a 
mighty  chorus. 

"What  a  magnificent  orchestra,"  Haidee  cried. 
"The  birds  are  holding  high  carnival." 

The  pearl-like,  throbbing  symphony  grew 
sweeter  and  sweeter.  We  sat  spellbound  drink- 
ing in  the  enchantment  with  hungry  ears.  Sud- 
denly I  cried: 

167 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Look!     There  is  a  lazuli-bunting." 

I  pointed  to  the  feathered  blue  beauty  that  was 
winging  its  way  to  a  nearby  maple. 

"Lazuli-bunting?"  Haidee  echoed.  "What  a 
cosy  name.  I  suppose  the  baby  birds  are  called 
baby  buntings,  Joey." 

Joey  looked  up  in  her  face  with  adoration  in 
his  brown  eyes,  and  she  moved  a  little  forward 
and  pressed  his  head  gently  back  against  her 
knee.  They  contemplated  each  other  with  a  sort 
of  radiant  satisfaction. 

"No  one  ever  told  me  about  baby  buntings," 
Joey  declared  at  last. 

"What  a  shame  I  Mr.  Dale,  do  you  know  you 
have  neglected  Joey's  education?" 

Very  slowly  and  prettily  Haidee  repeated  the 
old  rhyme,  her  fingers  stroking  the  lad's  sun- 
burnt cheek.  Wanza's  eyes  were  very  big  and 
strangely  burning  as  they  rested  on  her.  And 
her  lips  were  drawn  into  a  straight,  unlovely  red 
line  as  she  finally  dropped  her  regard  to  her  tat- 
ting. I  carved  in  silence,  and  the  lazuli-bunt- 
ing was  forgotten  as  the  recital  of  the  nursery 
rhyme  led  to  the  demand  for  others. 

"Wanza,"  I  teased,  going  up  behind  her  in  the 
kitchen  later,  and  reaching  round  to  tickle  her 
chin  with  a  ribbon  grass  as  she  bent  over  the  iron- 

168 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

ing  board.  "Wanza,  why  so  pensive?  Where 
are  your  smiles?" 

"She  smiles  enough  for  both,"  Wanza  retorted, 
giving  an  angry  flirt  to  the  ruffle  she  was  iron- 
ing. "I  don't  know  which  is  the  worst — your 
smiley  kind  or  your  everlasting  scolds.  Mrs. 
Olds  would  sour  the  cream — and  Mrs.  Batterly's 
eternal  smirk  makes  me  think  of  a  sick  calf. 
And  when  I  feel  like  rushing  around  and  biting 
the  furniture  it's  just  enough  to  kill  me,  so  it  is, 
to  have  her  so  purry  and  mealy-mouthed." 

"But  why  should  you  want  to  rush  around  and 
bite  the  furniture?"  I  asked  in  bewilderment. 

"Oh,  just  because  I'm  a  great  big  rough,  mean- 
tempered  country  girl!  I've  never  had  real 
bringing  up."  Tears  stood  in  Wanza's  stormy 
eyes.  "No  perfect  lady  ever  felt  like  biting  any- 
thing. Oh,  please  go  away,  Mr.  Dale,  and  leave 
me  be — I'm  cross  and  tired — and  not  fit  to  be 
noticed !" 

I  saw  Mrs.  Olds  smiling  palely  at  me  from  the 
door  of  the  sick  room.  She  tiptoed  forward. 

"Hush,"  she  whispered.  "My  patient  is 
asleep.  He  is  quite  rational,  Mr.  Dale.  In  a 
few  days  he  will  be  able  to  sit  up." 

With  Mrs.  Olds'  permission  I  went  in  and 
stood  at  the  bedside  and  looked  down  at  the  sleep - 

169 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

ing  man.  He  was  thin  and  his  face  was  lean  and 
white.  He  looked  a  very  different  being  from 
the  man  who  had  staggered  into  the  cabin  that 
night  in  the  storm.  He  looked  more  nearly  a 
man  as  God  intended  him  to  look.  His  brow  was 
high,  his  jaw  clean  cut,  his  hair  grew  luxuriantly 
on  his  well-shaped  head.  But  his  mouth  beneath 
the  brown  moustache  was  loose-lipped,  self  in- 
dulgent, and  obstinate.  And  there  was  some- 
thing hateful  to  me  in  the  set  of  his  thick  neck 
on  his  big  shoulders. 

I  returned  to  the  kitchen.  It  was  very  hot  in 
the  small  room,  and  the  steam  that  arose  from  a 
kettle  of  soup  on  the  stove  as  Wanza  lifted  the 
lid  assailed  my  nose  and  eyes  unpleasantly.  I 
opened  the  door  to  allow  the  steam  to  escape,  and 
Wanza  spoke  hastily: 

"Shut  the  door,  Mr.  Dale,  please,  you're  cool- 
ing off  the  oven,  and  I'm  baking  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Does  a  whiff  of  air  like  that  cool  your  oven?" 
I  asked  curiously. 

"Well,  I  should  say  so.     My,  it's  hot  in  here!" 

I  looked  at  her  red  face,  and  as  I  did  so  an 
inspiration  came  to  me.  "Wanza,"  I  said,  "why 
should  I  not  make  you  a  fireless  cooker?" 

She  stared  at  me. 

170 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  you  would  not  like 
one?"  I  queried. 

"Glory!     I'd  like  one  right  enough." 

"Come  to  the  workshop  after  dinner,"  I  re- 
joined, "and  we  will  discuss  it." 

Wanza  came  to  the  shop  later  in  the  afternoon 
and  I  convinced  her  that  the  construction  of  a 
fireless  cooker  was  a  bagatelle  to  a  skilled  crafts- 
man such  as  I  considered  myself  to  be.  Her  face 
flamed  with  the  fire  of  her  enthusiasm.  She 
caught  my  hand,  and  cried : 

"You're  a  fixing  man,  all  right!  You  sure 
are." 

I  had  never  seen  her  blue  eyes  so  softly  grateful 
before.  They  were  like  humid  flowers.  Her 
voice  was  full  and  low.  Her  hand  pressed  my 
hand,  and  clung.  Seeing  her  thus  moved  I 
stammered : 

"Why,  I  seem  to  be  a  sort  of  Jack  of  all  trades. 
A  Jack  of  all  trades  is  master  of  none,  usually." 
Her  face  was  very  close  to  mine,  and  what  with 
her  strange  witchery  and  her  appealing  wistful- 
ness  I  might  have  said  more ;  but  as  I  gazed  at  her 
my  senses  untangled,  and  I  locked  my  lips.  I 
shook  my  head  at  her,  and  I  smiled  a  little  dep- 
recatingly  and  loosed  my  hand  as  she  mur- 
mured: "I  think  you're  just  grand — just 

171 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

grand!  You're  kind  as  kind  can  be.  Oh,  Mr. 
David  Dale,  you  sure  are  a  good,  good  fellow!" 

"All  of  this  because  I  am  going  to  try  to  turn 
out  some  sort  of  fireless  cooker,"  I  remonstrated. 

"You're  always  trying  to  do  something — for 
somebody — trying  to  help  along — that's  it.  It 
ain't  so  much  just  this." 

Wanza  was  rather  incoherent  as  she  turned 
and  walked  out  of  the  shop.  And  someway  in- 
stead of  her  words  of  commendation  heartening 
me  they  left  me  dejected.  But  the  cooker  was  a 
success.  A  stout  box,  lined  with  asbestos,  a  re- 
ceptacle of  tin,  and  sawdust  for  packing  turned 
the  trick.  And  the  corned  beef  and  cabbage  that 
Wanza,  the  conjurer,  straightway  evolved  from 
this  crude  contrivance  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

The  chicken  Wanza  cooked  one  day  soon  after 
was  so  unusually  succulent  that  we  decided  at 
once  to  ride  to  the  village  before  supper  and  carry 
Captain  Grif  a  generous  portion. 

"He'll  relish  a  bit  of  chicken  after  so  much 
pork  and  corn  bread,  arid  such  living.  I  can 
warm  it  up  on  the  stove  for  him,  and  stir  up  some 
biscuits,  while  you  and  him  are  having  a  game  of 
chess  on  the  porch,"  Wanza  announced. 

Accordingly  we  rode  away  over  the  ploughed 
field  together  at  about  five  o'clock,  Mrs.  Olds 

172 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

watching  us  dourly  from  the  kitchen  doorway, 
and  Joey  yelling  after  us:  "I'll  see  to  Bell 
Brandon  while  you're  away." 

Captain  Grif's  was  the  warmest  of  welcomes. 

"Well,  well,  well,"  he  said,  rising  from  his 
rocker  on  the  front  porch  as  we  mounted  the 
steps,  "and  here  you  be,  the  two  of  ye — and  better 
than  a  crowd,  I  say!  By  golly,  s-ship-mate, 
you're  a  sight  for  sore  eyes.  You  looked  peaked, 
too,  and  Wanza  ain't  at  her  best.  But  sit  right 
down — Wanza,  there's  the  hammock — the  ham- 
mock I  slept  in  many  a  night  at  sea — plump  into 
that  now." 

He  beamed  at  his  daughter.  It  was  good  to 
see  his  pride  and  delight  in  her. 

"Dad,"  Wanza  said,  wagging  her  bright  head 
at  him,  "something  told  us  you  was  pining  for 
chicken — chicken  with  dumpling,  Dad.  It's  in 
this  pail.  You  sit  here  with  Mr.  Dale,  and  I'll 
get  out  the  chessmen,  and  while  you're  playing 
I'll  warm  up  the  stew.  Then  when  you've  had 
your  bite  with  us,  I'll  play  on  the  melodeon — I'll 
play  'Bell  Mahone' — and  you  and  Mr.  Dale  can 
sit  on  the  porch  and  watch  the  moon  come  up,  and 
you  can  tell  him  stories ;  and  pretty  soon  I'll  come 
out,  after  I  have  tidied  up,  and  go  to  sleep  in  the 
hammock." 

173 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

It  all  fell  out  as  Wanza  planned.  We  had  our 
bite  together;  I  helped  carry  the  dishes  to  the 
sink  in  the  kitchen  while  Captain  Grif  filled  his 
pipe;  and  then  Wanza  played  on  the  melodeon 
and  sang  "Bell  Mahone,"  and  "Wait  for  the 
Wagon,"  and  "Bonnie  Eloise,"  while  Captain 
Grif  and  I  chatted  on  the  porch.  The  moon  came 
up  later,  and  Wanza  swung  in  the  hammock  and 
dozed,  or  pretended  to,  while  her  father  told  me 
one  story  after  another.  The  central  figure  of 
many  of  his  tales  was  Dockery — the  ship's  stew- 
ard— whom  he  described  as  a  bald-pated,  middle- 
aged  man,  with  a  round  face,  a  Mephistophelean 
smile,  and  the  helpless  frown  of  a  baby.  "A  curi- 
ous m-mixture  that  feller !  I  was  some  time  read- 
in'  him — but  I  read  him.  He  wa'n't  very  sharp — 
that  was  his  trouble  mostly.  It's  a  trouble  lots 
of  us  is  afflicted  with.  Them  as  knows  it  I  have 
a  sort  o'  respect  for — them  as  don't  I  'bominate, 
I  sure  do,  s-ship-mate.  Ignorance  itself  is  bad 
enough,  but  when  it's  mixed  proper  with  conceit, 
they's  no  standin'  it."  In  this  wise  old  Grif 
would  discourse  much  to  our  edification. 

To-night  he  was  hugely  interested  in  dissecting 
the  big  man's  character  from  bits  concerning  him 
Wanza  and  I  had  dropped. 

"I  don't  take  no  stock  in  him,  boy — I've  told 
174 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

Wanza  so  from  the  first — with  all  his  nightshirts 
embroidered  like  an  old  lady's  antimacassar! 
And  when  he  gets  to  settin'  up,  and  needs  waitin' 
on,  I  want  Wanza  should  make  herself  scarce. 
The  gal  tells  me  she  thinks  he  is  a  rich  man. 
Well,  may  be — may  be ;  that  don't  mend  matters 
if  he's  a  rascal." 

At  this  juncture  Wanza  yawned,  tossed  her 
arms  abroad,  and  said  sleepily: 

"He's  a  gentleman,  Dad." 

Old  Grif  chuckled. 

"Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  A  gentle- 
man! Ump!  I've  never  knowed  the  time  I 
ain't  heard  somebody  called  a  gentleman  that 
hadn't  any  more  call  to  be  considered  a  gentle- 
man than  your  pap  here.  A  gentleman,  hey? 
you  mean  he  has  clothes  made  by  a  tailor  and 
money  in  his  pockets,  and  goes  to  the  barber 
frequent,  probably  takes  a  bath  every  day — 
runnin'  water  in  his  room  at  home,  you  guess? 
Hum — well — yes — he's  a  gentleman  'cording  to 
them  standards.  I  got  my  own  standard  I 
measure  men  by,  thank  God." 

In  his  excitement  Captain  Grif  rose  from  his 
chair  and  limped  back  and  forth  on  the  porch, 
thumping  his  cane  down  hard  at  each  step.  He 
went  on : 

175 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Now,  Dale,  here — he's  a  gentleman.  You  bet 
he  is.  He  ain't  got  no  initial  embroidered  on  his 
shirts — ain't  got  mor'n  two,  likely.  He  ain't  got 
no  runnin'  water  in  his  house — but  he  douses  him- 
self in  the  river  every  day ;  and  he  shaves  himself. 
It's  some  work  for  him  to  get  himself  up  present- 
able. Tain't  no  credit  to  a  feller  to  keep  clean 
when  he  has  a  shower  bath  in  his  closet."  He 
was  chuckling  again,  and  Wanza  ventured  to 
say: 

"I  call  him  a  gentleman  because — he's  different 
— that's  what  he  is.  He  don't  talk  or  look  or  act 
like  any  one  in  these  parts.  I  like  him.  I  think 
I  could  earn  a  bit  amusing  him  when  he  is  able  to 
sit  up,  Dad." 

"You'll  march  right  back  home  here  if  I  hear 
of  your  try  in'  it,  gal,  mark  me,  now !" 

"But,  Dad,  you're  not  fair!  Why,  he  may  be 
the  best  man  living.  You  haven't  ever  laid  your 
eyes  on  him." 

"I  knows  it — I  knows  it,  Wanza.  I  may 
sound  a  leetle  mite  prejudiced;  but  I  ain't — oh, 
no!  I'm  fair-minded;  but  I'm  a  reader  of  char- 
acter, and  I  can  tell  as  much  by  a  man's  night- 
shirts as  some  of  these  here  phrenologists  can  tell 
by  the  bumps  on  his  head.  The  minute  you  said 
he  had  flowers  and  initials  worked  on  his  night- 

176 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

shirts  that  minute  I  said  to  myself,  'He  ain't  no 
good' ;  and  you  mark  my  words,  he  ain't." 

Going  home,  Wanza  said  to  me : 

"Poor  Dad,  he's  terribly  suspicious,  ain't  he, 
Mr.  Dale?" 

"A  little,  Wanza,  perhaps." 

"You're  suspicious,  too,  David  Dale.  You 
don't  think  the  big  man  is  a  gentleman." 

I  considered. 

"I  think  he  would  be  called  a  gentleman, 
Wanza." 

She  tossed  her  head. 

"I  do  think  he's  the  handsomest  man — and  the 
smartest  man,  seems!  And  I  like  embroidered 
underclothes.  So  there!" 


177 


CHAPTER  XV 

I   BEGIN   TO   WONDER  ABOUT   WANZA 

SOMETIMES  I  grew  perverse,  and  went 
about  the  tedious  common  round  of  my 
tread-mill  existence  doggedly,  taking  um- 
brage at  Mrs.  Olds  for  the  many  unnecessary, 
trivial  services  she  exacted.  She  seemed  to  de- 
light in  keeping  my  neck  under  the  yoke.  There 
was  always  a  door  sagging  on  its  hinges,  a  knife 
that  needed  a  new  handle,  a  lamp  or  two  that  she 
or  Wanza  had  forgotten  to  fill.  The  mice  that  I 
took  from  the  traps  each  morning  were  legion. 
They  were  Mrs.  Olds'  favorite  topic  of  conversa- 
tion at  breakfast  time.  How  one  small  cabin 
could  harbor  so  fierce  and  vast  a  horde  I  could 
scarce  conceive.  I  believe  I  half  suspected  Mrs. 
Olds  of  emulating  the  pied  piper,  and  rounding 
them  up  from  the  fields  and  woods.  I  was  ap- 
pointed custodian  of  the  wood-rats'  traps,  as  well. 
These  were  taken  alive ;  and  one  morning  I  slyly 
let  one  escape  beneath  my  tormentor's  chair. 
Jingles  saved  the  situation  by  pouncing  on  the 

178 


I  WONDER  ABOUT  WANZA 

rodent  and  snapping  his  teeth  together  on  its 
neck.  I  came  to  have  small  appetite  for  break- 
fast. 

I  began  each  day  by  carrying  water  from  the 
spring  to  fill  the  barrel  outside  the  kitchen  door. 
Mrs.  Olds  was  apt  to  mount  guard  over  the  barrel 
during  this  period,  to  see  that  no  earwigs  or  bits 
of  leaves  went  into  it  from  the  pail.  She  was 
very  particular  to  have  the  barrel  kept  sweet  and 
clean,  and  every  second  day  I  scrubbed  and  rinsed 
the  inside.  She  required  very  fine  wood  for  the 
kitchen  stove  for  quick  fires  when  she  desired  to 
heat  her  patient's  food;  and  for  the  fireplace  in 
the  front  room  she  asked  me  to  select  other  wood 
than  cedar,  cedar  being  prone  to  crackle  and  snap. 
I  was  well  nigh  staggered  with  the  knowledge 
of  how  a  woman's  housekeeping  differs  from  a 
man's.  Joey  and  I  had  felt  no  lack  in  the  good 
old  days.  I  smiled  to  see  my  lad's  eyes  open 
widely  at  Mrs.  Olds'  occasional  reference  to  our 
"pitiful  attempts  at  housekeeping." 

"Are  our  housekeeping  pitiful?"  he  invariably 
asked  me  later. 

But  though  I  swallowed  my  rising  gorge,  and 
managed  to  work  under  Mrs.  Olds'  coercion, 
there  was  ample  time  left  in  which  to  labor  at  the 
simple  tasks  I  loved. 

179 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Joey  and  I  had  discovered  that  a  pair  of 
martins  were  nesting  in  a  hollow  tree  near  the 
cabin,  and  in  order  to  induce  other  pairs  to  pass 
the  summer  with  us  I  had  decided  to  erect  a  few 
bird  houses  on  the  premises.  I  was  in  the  Dingle 
one  evening,  therefore,  in  the  act  of  hoisting  a 
martin  house  on  a  cedar  pole,  when  Joey  came 
through  the  elder  bushes  with  his  inquisitive  small 
face  in  a  pucker. 

"Mrs.  Olds  says  birds  don't  like  bird  houses," 
he  hazarded. 

"Indeed?"  I  murmured. 

"Do  they,  Mr.  David?" 

"I  think  so,  lad." 

"She  says  she  guesses  p'haps  martins  do,  mor'n 
other  birds.  Why  do  martins  like  bird  houses 
'specially,  Mr.  David?" 

"Why,  lad,"  I  replied,  straightening,  and  tak- 
ing my  pipe  from  between  my  lips,  "I  think 
it  is  because  the  Indians,  long  ago,  before  the 
white  man's  time,  made  snug  houses  for  the 
martins  out  of  bark  and  fastened  them  to  their 
tent  poles;  and  accordingly  the  martins  have 
grown  friendly,  and  they  like  us  to  be  hospitable 
and  prepare  a  home  for  them." 

"I  don't  like  to  have  to  coax  them,"  Joey  de- 
cided. "You're  awful  good  to  things,  Mr.  David 

180 


I  WONDER  ABOUT  WANZA 

—sometimes  when  you  coax  me,  I  know  I'd  ought 
to  get  whipped  instead." 

It  was  the  purple  gloaming  of  an  unusually 
sultry  day;  and  as  Joey  finished,  I  looked  at  my 
watch. 

"Bed-time,  boy,"  I  announced. 

"Hoo — hoo!  Hoo — hoo!"  he  called  suddenly, 
throwing  back  his  head.  His  eyes  went  to  the 
windows  of  the  cedar  room.  Soon  a  faint  an- 
swering "Hoo — hoo!"  resounded.  He  sprang 
up  the  steps,  and  grew  hesitant  before  the  closed 
door.  But  in  another  moment  it  swung  open  and 
Haidee  appeared.  She  put  her  arms  about  the 
boyish  visitant. 

"I'll  kiss  you  on  each  eyelid,"  I  heard  her  say. 
"That  means  happy  dreams.  Go  to  sleep  and 
dream  of  'Mina,  Nainie,  and  Serena' — oh,  I  for- 
got 1  They  are  for  little  girls'  dreams.  What 
shall  I  tell  you  to  dream  of?" 

"P'r'aps  I'll  dream  of  'Dwainies'  and  'Win- 
nowelvers' — what  lives  in  Spirkland — an'  all 
them  things  you  telled  me  about,  shall  I  ?"  Joey 
responded  chivalrously. 

"I  think  it  would  be  very  lovely  if  you  would," 
Haidee's  tender  tones  replied.  And  then  the  kiss 
was  given — a  kiss  "like  the  drip  of  a  drop  of 
dew." 

181 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  heard  Joey's  abashed,  "Good  night — good 
night,  Bell  Brandon."  Then  he  beat  a  hasty 
crashing  retreat  through  the  underbrush,  and  my 
wonder  woman  came  down  the  steps  and  stood  at 
my  side. 

"What  a  glorious  sky!"  she  exclaimed.  "Soon 
there'll  be  a  trail  of  star  dust  across  that  mauve 
vastness  up  yonder.  I  wish  I  might  go  down  to 
the  river  and  see  the  reflections." 

There  was  a  wistful  young  note  in  her  voice. 

"Nothing  easier,"  I  assured  her.  "You  seem 
quite  at  home  on  your  crutches.  I  think  we  can 
manage." 

And  so  it  happened  that  we  watched  the  sun 
set  together,  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  green 
plush  river  bank.  It  was  a  gorgeous  setting,  and 
a  more  gorgeous  afterglow.  The  meadows 
across  the  river  were  like  a  wavy  robe  of  pink  silk. 
The  stars  crept  out  and  floated  low  like  skimming 
butterflies.  The  river  was  amber  and  gold. 
Haidee  wore  the  blue  robe  that  I  found  so  dis- 
tracting. As  she  talked,  from  time  to  time,  she 
turned  her  head  and  gazed,  pensive-eyed,  across 
the  water,  and  I  saw  the  black  loop  of  her  hair, 
the  line  of  cheek  and  throat  that  moved  me  to 
such  profound  rapture.  I  sat  there  awkward 
and  tongue-tied  while  she  told  me  that  old  Lund- 

182 


I  WONDER  ABOUT  WANZA 

quist  and  a  couple  of  hands  from  the  village  had 
begun  repairs  at  Hidden  Lake. 

"I  have  enjoyed  your  hospitality,"  she  said 
earnestly,  "but  I  must  go  as  soon  as  the  cabin  is 
in  condition.  Wanza  will  go  with  me.  You  are 
hospitable  even  to  the  birds,"  she  finished  smil- 
ingly. "I  think  you  must  have  Finnish  ances- 
try." 

"My  people  are  Southerners,"  I  answered, 
scarcely  thinking  of  my  words. 

"How  interesting.  Did  you  live  in  the 
South?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh !     Shall  you  return  some  day?" 

I  shrank  from  her  open  look.  I  answered, 
"No,"  quietly. 

Her  black-tressed  head  dipped  forward  on  her 
chest  and  her  lips  grew  mute  as  if  my  quick  denial 
had  silenced  them.  After  a  long  while  she  said : 

"What  grand  horizons  you  have  in  the  West. 
I  grow  happier  with  each  sunset  that  I  see. 
Look  at  that  fleet  of  pinkish  cloudlets — those 
cloud-chariots  of  fire  racing  in  those  pearly 
streets." 

"The  South  cannot  compare  with  the  West,"  I 
said.  "Could  any  one  describe  this  valley? 
Only  a  poet  could  do  it.  The  summers  here  I — 

183 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

crisp,  cool  nights  for  sleep,  clear  bracing  days  for 
work — " 

"And  what  for  relaxation?" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"The  twilights  for  relaxation,  surely.  The 
twilights — purple  and  mysterious.  See  those 
weird  trees  that  leap  like  twisting  flames  into  the 
sky.  Look  at  the  river,  lovingly  clasped  in 
mountain  arms.  Listen  to  the  bird-twitterings. 
Mr.  Dale,  what  is  the  bird  that  sings  far  into  the 
night?" 

"The  bird  that  says:  'Sweet,  sweet,  please 
hark  to  me,  won't  you?' ' 

She  laughed.  "Something  equally  plaintive, 
at  any  rate." 

"It's  the  white-crowned  sparrow.  You'll  hear 
it  through  the  darkest  nights.  Its  song  has  all 
the  sombre  quality  of  the  dark  hours.  It's  our 
American  nightingale." 

"Mr.  Audubon.  You  know  tomes  of  bird  lore, 
don't  you?  Joey  says  you  are  writing  a  nature 
story.  I  didn't  know  the  sparrows  sang  like 
nightingales  before." 

I  smiled  down  into  the  engaging  face,  and  then 
I  threw  back  my  head  and  whistled.  I  began 
with  a  rich  bell-clear  note,  this  merged  into  a  well 
defined  melody,  and  terminated  in  a  pealing 

184 


I  WONDER  ABOUT  WANZA 

chanson.  "The  meadow  lark,"  I  said,  "which  is 
not  a  lark  at  all,  but  belongs  to  the  oriole  family. 
It  is  an  incessant  singer." 

"Joey  said  you  whistled  like  the  birds.  Why, 
you're  a  wonder  1  A  craftsman — a  fixing  man — 
and — a  bird  boy." 

"A  bird  in  the  heart  is  worth  more  than  a  hun- 
dred in  the  note  book,"  I  quoted. 

The  evening  ended  all  too  soon. 

Two  days  later  Joey  brought  me  the  infor- 
mation that  Haidee  was  walking  about  in  the 
Dingle  with  the  aid  of  a  single  crutch. 

"An'  she  could  easily  go  without  that,  she  says, 
Mr.  David.  An'  she  says  soon  she  can  send  them 
to  the  children's  hospital  in  the  city." 

"Give  Bell  Brandon  my  congratulations,"  I 
bade  Joey  as  I  rode  away. 

I  had  been  to  the  cabin  on  Hidden  Lake  but 
once  since  the  accident  to  my  wonder  woman.  I 
had  gone  there  the  following  day  to  fetch 
Haidee's  mare.  Wanza  had  gone  with  me  and 
had  brought  away  a  few  essential  articles  of 
clothing  for  her  employer. 

On  my  arrival  I  found  that  old  Lundquist  and 
the  village  hands  had  cleared  away  the  debris,  and 
that  the  work  of  restoring  the  lean-to  was  well 
under  way. 

185 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  made  a  rough  draft  of  the  improvements 
Haidee  and  I  had  planned  for  the  cabin,  and 
drew  up  some  specifications  for  the  men,  and  then 
I  strolled  down  to  the  lake.  I  was  saying  to  my- 
self that  the  cabin  should  be  tight  and  sound  for 
the  fall  rains,  and  that  if  Haidee  would  allow 
me  I  would  further  embellish  it  with  a  back  porch 
and  a  rustic  pergola  like  the  one  I  had  built  for 
Joey  at  Cedar  Dale,  when  I  heard  a  splash  in 
the  water,  a  sudden  swishing  sound  in  the  rushes, 
and  saw  a  movement  in  the  tules.  I  sprang  to 
the  water's  edge.  Soon  a  canoe  emerged  from 
the  green  thickets. 

Wanza  sat  in  the  canoe,  plying  the  paddle.  A 
triumphant  light  was  on  her  face,  her  hands  shone 
bronze  in  the  sun,  her  red  lips  smiled  mischie- 
vously. She  called  to  me: 

"I've  run  away!  I  had  to  get  out  on  the  river, 
I  j  ust  had  to !  Mr.  Dale,  do  you  hear  the  yellow- 
throat  singing  'witchery — witchery — witchery'?" 

I  straightened  my  shoulders  with  a  quick  uplift 
of  spirit.  Her  unexpected  presence  set  my 
pulses  beating  a  livelier  measure.  Her  corn- 
flower blue  eyes  rested  on  me,  then  wandered  to 
the  birch  thickets  along  the  shore,  and  she  sat 
leaning  slightly  forward,  her  gaze  remote,  a 
charming  figure  in  the  sunlight. 

186 


I  WONDER  ABOUT  WANZA 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  me  recite  my  little 
piece  about  the  y ellow- throat  ?" 

"While  May  bedecks  the  naked  trees 
With  tassels  and  embroideries, 
And  many  blue-eyed  violets  beam 
Along  the  edges  of  the  stream, 
I  hear  a  voice  that  seems  to  say, 
Now  near  at  hand,  now  far  away, 
'Witchery — witchery — witchery.'  " 

Her  glance  came  back  to  me. 

"I  wish,  Mr.  Dale,  that  we  had  blue  violets  in 
these  woods — they  all  seem  to  be  yellow.  Why 
do  you  stare  at  me  so?" 

"I  had  no  idea  you  were  coming;  it  is  a  stare  of 
surprise." 

"But  you're  glad  to  see  me,  now,  aren't  you? 
I'll  paddle  you  home.  How's  the  cabin  getting 
on?" 

"It  is  scarcely  habitable  yet.  But  I  think  the 
men  are  getting  on  as  well  as  could  be  expected." 

Her  face  was  dappled  with  light  and  shadow  as 
she  sat  there.  An  exquisite,  happy  radiance 
emanated  from  her.  She  looked  inquiringly  into 
my  eyes  and  swept  her  paddle. 

"You  are  surprised  to  see  me,  you  sure  are! 
But  now  that  I  am  here  I  want  to  see  the  im- 

187 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

provements.     Give  me  your  hand,  David  Dale." 

She  beached  her  canoe,  stood  up,  and  placed 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder  as  I  bent  to  her.  Very 
lightly  I  passed  my  arm  about  her.  She  flashed 
a  laughing  side  glance  at  me,  and  put  one  foot 
over  the  side  of  the  craft.  "I  don't  need  that 
much  help,"  she  said,  grimacing. 

The  canoe  rocked,  suddenly.  She  stumbled. 
I  caught  her.  She  was  against  my  breast. 
"You  see  you  needed  that  much  help,"  I  laughed 
boyishly. 

"Let  me  go,  Mr.  David  Dale." 

She  shook  herself  free  and  stood  apart  from 
me.  The  sunlight  slanted  on  her  face  as  she 
stood  there,  flushing  wildly,  gilded  her  white  neck, 
flashed  on  her  bare  arms.  She  held  her  head 
down  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  raised  it  and 
looked  at  me.  Her  eyes  were  soft  and  wet. 
"What  a  goose  I  was,"  she  cried  softly.  "Come 
on,  I'll  race  you  to  the  cabin!" 

I  paddled  home  in  the  canoe  with  Wanza,  after 
directing  Lundquist  to  ride  my  horse  back  to 
Cedar  Dale.  The  river  purred  to  us  all  the  way, 
the  meadow  larks  and  warblers  chanted  rounde- 
lays of  joy  and  love  from  the  thickets,  and  the 
birch  trees  shook  their  silver,  tinkling  leaves  in 
elfish  music  above  the  sun-kissed  water.  We 

188 


I  WOXDER  ABOUT  WANZA 

were  very  silent  drifting  down  the  river,  and  my 
thoughts  were  strange,  strange  thoughts.  I  had 
begun  to  wonder  about  Wanza — Wanza,  who  un- 
derstood my  rapture  at  the  sight  of  the  new  day, 
who  felt  the  same  tightening  of  the  throat  at  the 
song  of  the  birds,  the  same  breathlessness  beneath 
the  stars.  I  had  begun  to  ask  myself  if,  after  all, 
she  were  not  as  fine  as  another,  even  though 
through  long  association  her  rareness  for  me  was 
impaired. 


189 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WE   HAVE  AN   ADVENTURE 

ABOUT  this  time  I  began  to  hear  strange 
stories  in  the  village  of  a  silver-tip  bear 
that  was  committing  grave  depredations 
in    the    community.     I    recounted    exploits    of 
grizzlies  to  Haidee  and  Wanza  as  we  sat  in  the 
Dingle  now  and  then,  smiling  at  Haidee's  delicate 
shiver    of    horror,    and    glorying    in    Wanza's 
bravado  which  led  her  into  all  sorts  of  bombastic 
declarations  as  to  what  her  line  of  conduct  would 
be  should  she  meet  Mr.  Silvertip  face  to  face. 

"Of  course,"  she  was  fond  of  repeating,  "if  I 
was  carrying  a  gun  I  would  shoot  him." 

Joey  kept  me  awake  long  after  we  both  should 
have  been  soundly  sleeping  to  tell  me  how  he 
would  meet  the  bear  in  the  woods  some  fine  day 
when  alone,  and  summarily  dispose  of  him  with 
the  twenty-two  calibre  rifle  he  called  his  own,  but 
which  needless  to  say,  he  had  never  been  allowed 
to  use  much.  We  were  all  pleasantly  excited 
anent  the  grizzly. 

190 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

"I  feel  sure  that  it  will  be  my  happy  fortune 
to  fire  the  shot  that  will  bring  to  an  inglorious 
end  old  big  foot's  career,"  I  said  dramatically  one 
morning. 

We  had  foregathered  in  the  Dingle — Haidee's 
mare,  Buttons,  and  Wanza's  Rosebud  were 
neighing  just  beyond  in  the  pine  thicket — for  we 
were  going  to  ride.  Some  days  since  we  had 
taken  our  first  jaunt  on  horseback,  and  Haidee 
had  found  that  the  excursion  wearied  her  not  at 
all.  The  crutches  were  infrequently  used  now. 
Haidee  explained  that  her  continued  use  of  them 
was  simply  a  manifestation  of  fear-thought.  I 
little  meant  the  words  I  said,  but  when  we  rode 
away  I  carried  my  thirty-thirty  slung  on  my 
shoulder. 

As  we  went  through  the  village  we  met  Captain 
Grif  Lyttle  mounted  on  his  piebald  broncho.  It 
required  no  little  urging  to  induce  him  to  join  our 
expedition.  But  eventually  he  was  won  over. 

"If  it  was  goin'  to  ride  only,  I'd  be  for  it.  But 
I  see  you're  toting  your  dinner.  I  don't  hold 
with  picnics.  This  carryin'  grub  a  few  miles — 
an'  there  be  nothin'  heavier  than  grub — settin' 
down  and  eatin'  it,  and  beatin'  it  back  home,  is 
all  tomfoolishness,  'pears  to  me.  But  you  young 
folks  sees  things  different;  and  if  so  be  I'll  be 

191 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

any  acquisition  whatsoever  to  your  party,  I  stand 
ready  to  go  along."  He  looked  hard  at  Haidee 
as  he  spoke,  and  I  was  half  prepared  for  the  re- 
mark he  addressed  to  her :  "  'Pears  to  me,  young 
lady,  you  ain't  got  up  for  a  picnic,  exactly.  That 
there  gauzy  waist'll  snag  on  the  bushes,  and  your 
arms '11  burn  to  a  blister — there's  no  protection  in 
such  sleazy  stuff.  Look  at  Wanza  now — she's 
rigged  up  proper! — stout  skirt  and  high  shoes 
and  a  right  thick  waist." 

We  had  gone  some  distance  before  I  noticed 
that  Wanza  was  carrying  my  twenty-two.  I  was 
not  over  civil  when  I  saw  it  in  her  hands. 

"I  like  to  shoot  things,"  she  explained,  with  a 
deprecatory  glance. 

Captain  Grif  chuckled. 

"Wanza  do  be  the  beatenest  gal  with  a  gun,  if 
I  do  say  it,"  he  remarked. 

The  glance  he  leveled  at  his  daughter  was 
pleased  and  proud;  and  there  was  a  depth  of 
affection  in  it  that  was  touching. 

"Well,"  Wanza  repeated  lightly,  "I  sure  do 
like  to  shoot  things." 

"Things! — squirrels,  rabbits,  birds — what?"  I 
winked  at  Captain  Grif. 

"You  know  me  better  than  that!"  she  stormed. 
192 


A    SUDDEN    YEARNING    SPRANG    UP 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

"What  then?" 

"Well — the  bear,  if  I  meet  him  alone." 

"With  a  twenty-two!" 

I  turned  my  back  on  her  and  spurred  forward 
to  Haidee's  side.  Haidee  sat  her  mount  su- 
perbly. She  wore  the  blue  riding  skirt  and  white* 
blouse  she  had  worn  on  the  occasion  of  her  first 
visit  to  Cedar  Dale.  She  was  hatless.  Her  hair 
was  loosely  braided.  She  swayed  lightly  in  her 
saddle.  There  was  something  bonny,  almost  in- 
souciant in  her  bearing  this  morning.  Wanza 
rode  beside  her  father  with  Joey  on  the  saddle  be- 
fore her,  and  they  lagged  behind  Haidee  and  me 
persistently,  stopping  so  often  that  once  or  twice 
we  lost  sight  of  them  completely  when  the  road 
curved  or  we  dipped  down  into  a  hollow.  When- 
ever I  glanced  around  at  Wanza  I  saw  her  riding 
with  her  face  upturned  to  the  trees,  a  detached 
look  on  her  face.  Once  I  heard  her  whistle  to  a 
blue  bird  and  once  I  heard  her  sing.  The  pathos 
of  her  song  clutched  me  by  the  throat.  In  the 
midst  of  a  speech  to  Haidee  I  stopped  short.  In 
my  heart  a  sudden  yearning  sprang  up,  a  yearn- 
ing only  half  understood ;  I  longed  to  help,  to  lift 
Wanza — to  make  her  more  like  the  woman  at  my 
side — more  finished,  less  elemental.  In  spite  of 

193 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

my  wonder  and  worship  of  Haidee  the  pathos  of 
Wanza's  simple,  ignorant  life  stirred  me — yes, 
and  hurt  me ! 

Nevertheless  I  was  still  facetious  to  Wanza 
when  we  dismounted  beneath  the  shade  of  some 
giant  pines  at  noon.  She  winced  as  she  unslung 
the  rifle  from  her  shoulder,  and  I  said  teasingly : 

"I  thought  you'd  feel  the  weight  of  that  by 
noon." 

Haidee  murmured :  "You  poor  thing!  Why 
did  you  insist  on  bringing  it?" 

I  looked  across  at  her  sharply.  Something  in 
her  manner  of  speaking  caused  me  to  say  chival- 
rously: "Wanza  is  welcome  to  the  rifle — it  isn't 
that." 

With  a  quick  glance  from  one  to  the  other 
Wanza  turned  to  the  saddle  bags  and  began  with 
Joey's  help,  to  unpack  mysterious  looking 
bundles.  I  gathered  dry  twigs,  built  a  fire  be- 
tween two  flat  rocks,  and  went  to  a  distant  spring 
for  water.  Then,  a  half  hour  later,  the  blue 
smoke  from  our  fire  drifted  away  among  the 
pines,  and  the  wind  bore  the  mingled  odors  of 
coffee  and  sizzling  bacon.  We  sat  in  a  group 
around  the  red  tablecloth  Wanza  spread  on  the 
ground.  Captain  Grif  ate  but  little,  but  he  dis- 
coursed at  large. 

194 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

We  finished  our  meal,  and  lay  back  on  the 
grass,  and  saw  the  sky,  blue  above  the  dark  tapes- 
try of  the  forest.  From  reclining  I  dropped  flat 
on  my  back  and  lay  staring  up  through  the  chinks 
in  the  green  roof,  while  Haidee  read  Omar  aloud, 
Wanza  threw  pine  cones  at  the  chipmunks,  Cap- 
tain Grif  snoozed,  and  Joey  took  his  bowgun  and 
went  off  on  a  still  hunt  for  Indians. 

An  hour  passed.  When  Haidee  ceased  read- 
ing Wanza  sighed  and  said : 

"Why  didn't  we  eat  our  lunch  closer  to  the 
spring,  I'd  like  to  know.  I'll  need  more  water 
to  wash  the  forks  and  spoons  before  we  go." 

I  rose  with  a  resigned  air.  "I  will  go  to  the 
spring,"  I  said,  taking  the  small  tin  pail  that  had 
been  used  as  a  coffee  boiler.  "But  understand 
we  are  to  have  another  hour  of  Omar  before  we 
go — this  is  an  intermission  merely." 

The  captain  opened  one  eye,  and  half  closing 
his  big  hand  made  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  scoop 
a  fly  into  his  palm. 

"I  'low  I  don't  understand  that  fellow  Omar — 
he  don't  sound  lucid  to  me,"  he  complained.  "I 
don't  know  as  I  relish  bein'  called  a  Bubble,  ex- 
actly, either."  He  settled  back  more  comfort- 
ably. "But  he  was  a  philosopher,  and  I'm  a 
philosopher,  so  I  admire  him,  and  I'll  stand  by 

195 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

him.  All  them  old  chaps  was  all  right  'ceptin' 
the  lubber  that  poured  treacle  on  himself  to  at- 
tract the  ants — he  was  sure  peculiar!  Get  away 
there,  you  fly!  Golly,  s-ship-mate,  flies  is  bad 
enough,  but  ants! — ' 

I  made  quick  work  of  reaching  the  spring  in 
spite  of  the  dense  underbrush  that  impeded  my 
steps.  But  once  there  I  became  enamored  of  a 
reddish-yellow  butterfly — Laura,  of  the  genus 
Argynnis — and  I  followed  it  into  a  hawthorn 
thicket,  through  the  thicket  to  a  tangle  of  moss- 
festooned  birches,  and  eventually  lost  the  speci- 
men in  a  dense  growth  of  bramble.  I  went  back 
to  the  spring,  filled  my  pail  and  was  stooping  to 
drink  when  I  thought  I  heard  a  shot.  I  could  not 
be  certain,  as  the  noise  of  the  water  running  over 
a  rock  bed  filled  my  ears.  But  I  had  gone  only  a 
few  yards  from  the  spring  and  out  into  a  clearing 
when  I  heard  unmistakably  a  shot  from  my 
thirty-thirty.  I  dropped  the  pail  and  ran. 

When  I  came  to  the  pine  grove  where  I  had 
left  Haidee  and  Wanza  and  the  captain,  I  saw  a 
strange  sight.  Wanza,  white-faced  and  ap- 
parently unconscious,  lay  in  a  huddled  heap  on 
the  ground,  the  twenty-two  at  her  side;  Haidee 
bent  over  her ;  the  captain  stood,  wild-eyed,  hold- 
ing my  thirty- thirty  in  his  hand ;  and  near  them  a 

196 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

silver-tip  lay  bleeding  from  a  wound  in  his  heart. 
Even  as  I  went  forward  to  ascertain  that  the  bear 
had  received  his  quietus,  I  spoke  to  the  captain. 

"Good  work,  Captain  Grif." 

When  I  saw  that  the  bear  had  been  dispatched, 
I  ran  back  to  Wanza's  side.  The  captain  had 
lifted  her  in  his  arms,  her  head  was  against  his 
breast.  The  color  was  coming  back  to  her  face. 

"Don't  try  to  shoot  a  bear  again  with  a  twenty- 
two,  Wanza,"  I  said,  as  she  unclosed  her  eyes. 
She  looked  at  me  strangely  and  shuddered. 
"Some  one  had  to  shoot  quick,  and  I  had  the 
twenty- two  in  my  hand."  I  would  have  said 
more,  but  Joey  crept  out  of  the  bushes,  looked  at 
the  bear,  then  at  me,  and  said : 

"Let's  go  home,  Mr.  David." 

When  I  was  preparing  Joey  for  bed  that  night, 
he  piped  out  suddenly:  "I  saw  Wanza  shoot  the 
bear." 

"Wanza?"     I  turned  on  him. 

"Yep!  Sure.  I  was  in  the  bushes  playing 
Indian.  The  bear  came  out  of  the  huckleberry 
bushes  in  the  draw,  rolling  his  head  awful.  Bell 
Brandon  she  screamed.  Whew,  she  grabbed 
Wanza,  she  did !  Captain  Grif  woke  up,  and  got 
only  on  to  his  knees — he  wobbled  so! — and  then 
Wanza  up  with  the  twenty-two  and  shot — just 

197 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

like  that !  And  then  she  grabbed  the  big  gun  and 
shot  again.  Then  her  father  he  took  the  gun 
away  from  her,  and  Wanza  just  fell  down  on  the 
ground.  And  then  you  came." 

That  same  evening  I  said  to  Wanza : 

"I  was  very  stupid  not  to  understand  that  you 
shot  first  with  the  twenty-two,  and  then  dis- 
patched the  bear  with  the  thirty-thirty.  I 
thought  your  father  killed  the  bear.  Why  did 
you  not  tell  me  ?" 

"It  didn't  make  any  difference  as  I  could  see 
who  killed  the  bear.  The  main  thing  was  to  kill 
it,"  was  the  reply  I  received. 

The  next  day  Wanza  informed  me  that  Mrs. 
Olds'  patient  was  able  to  sit  up  in  bed.  "I've 
been  talking  to  him,"  she  added,  with  a  flirt  of  her 
head.  "If  I  was  a  good  reader,  now,  I'd  be  glad 
to  read  to  him  a  bit." 

"I  think  you  are  doing  very  well  as  you  are, 
Wanza,"  I  replied. 

There  surged  through  me  the  instinctive  dis- 
like, almost  aversion,  I  had  felt  on  the  night  of  his 
coming  to  Cedar  Dale,  and  my  tone  was  stern. 

"He  wants  me  to  talk  to  him  though,  he  says. 
He  says  he  needs  perking  up.  My,  he  knows  a 
lot,  don't  he,  Mr.  Dale?  Seems  like  he  knows 
everything,  'most.  And  I  do  think  he's  hand- 

198 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

some.  He's  got  the  finest  eyes !  Though  there's 
something  odd  about  them,  too,  if  you  stop  to 
think.  The  worst  with  handsome  eyes  is  that  you 
don't  stop  to  think!  I'm  going  out  now  to  get 
some  hardback  for  him.  He  says  he  don't  re- 
member ever  seeing  the  pink  kind.  What  do  you 
call  it,  Mr.  Dale?" 

"Spiraea  tomentosa.  Wait  a  bit,  Wanza,"  I 
said,  "I'll  go  with  you." 

We  went  to  the  woods.  It  was  morning,  and 
the  freshness  of  the  hour  was  incomparable.  The 
birds  were  singing  with  a  sort  of  rapture.  And 
our  way  through  the  silent  greenwood  aisles  was 
wholesome  and  sweet  with  the  breath  of  pine  and 
balm  o'  Gilead.  The  vistas  were  rosy  with  pink 
hardback;  on  either  side  feathery  white  clusters 
of  wild  clematis  festooned  the  thickets,  and  here 
and  there  the  bright  faces  of  roses  peeped  out  at 
us  from  tangles  of  undergrowth. 

I  know  not  what  spirit  of  willfulness  possessed 
Wanza.  I  think  she  had  it  in  her  mind  to  arouse 
my  jealousy  by  praise  of  the  big  man.  Her  talk 
was  all  of  him.  Finally  I  had  my  say. 

"I  know  nothing  of  him,  Wanza.  He  may  be 
a  splendid  chap,  of  course,  and  he  may  be  a  rascal. 
Frankly,  I  do  not  like  him.  Admire  him,  if 
you  want  to.  But  I  would  rather  you  did  not 

199 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

chat  with  him   unless   Mrs.   Olds   is   present." 

"Dear  me!  How  can  a  little  friendly  chat 
hurt  any  one." 

Wanza  tucked  a  wild  rose  into  her  curls,  and 
it  hung  pendent,  nodding  at  me  saucily,  as  she 
tossed  her  head  and  laughed  in  my  face.  Her 
cheeks  matched  the  flower  in  color.  I  looked  at 
her  admiringly,  but  my  voice  was  still  firm  as  I 
said:  "I  hope  you  will  be  careful  to  give  very 
little  of  your  time  to  Mrs.  Olds'  patient." 

"Ha,  ha,"  laughed  Wanza,  crinkling  her  eye- 
lids and  giving  me  an  elfish  glance  from  beneath 
tawny  lashes. 

"In  a  measure,"  I  continued,  "you  are  in  my 
care,  and  I  feel  responsible  for  your  associates 
while  you  are  with  me." 

"Well,"  drawled  Wanza,  "if  I'm  with  an  angel 
'most  all  day  and  all  the  night — meaning  Mrs. 
Batterly — it  sure  won't  hurt  me  to  talk  some  to 
a  sinner  like  the  big  man.  Besides,  it'll  help  out 
a  lot.  It'll  keep  me  from  getting  glum,  Mr. 
Dale."  She  favored  me  with  another  roguish 
glance.  "You  wouldn't  have  me  getting  glum, 
would  you?" 

"I  wish  the  big  man  were  well,  and  on  his  way, 
so  that  we  might  use  the  front  room  again.  Mrs. 
Batterly  has  only  her  room  and  the  Dingle  as  it 

200 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

is,  and  she  must  grow  tired  of  having  her  meals 
in  her  room,"  I  complained. 

"I  carried  her  breakfast  to  her  this  morning  in 
the  Dingle."  There  was  something  defiant  in 
the  girl's  tone. 

"Famous!"  I  cried. 

After  a  short  silence  Wanza  said  provokingly : 

"If  I  want  to  talk  to  the  big  man  and  Mrs. 
Olds  is  out  of  ear  shot  I  don't  see  as  it  can 
matter." 

"Please,  Wanza,"  I  insisted,  "talk  with  him  as 
little  as  possible." 

Her  eyes  were  laughing,  and  teasing  and  paci- 
fying all  at  one  and  the  same  time.  I  held  out 
my  hand. 

"Say  you  will  do  as  I  ask,  and  give  me  your 
hand  on  it,"  I  implored. 

Her  eyes  were  only  teasing  now.  She  shook 
her  head,  and  I  dropped  my  hand  and  turned 
away.  I  heard  a  rustling  among  the  grasses  and 
thought  she  had  gone.  But  when  after  taking  a 
few  steps  I  looked  around,  there  she  was,  perched 
on  a  boulder,  her  feet  drawn  up  beneath  her  pink 
gingham  skirt,  her  arms  crossed  on  her  breast, 
her  eyes  surveying  me  steadfastly.  I  did  not 
smile  as  I  faced  her.  I  merely  glanced  and 
swung  on  my  heel. 

201 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Come  here,"  she  called. 

When  I  was  close  beside  her  again  she  shook 
her  head  more  vehemently  than  before,  until  all 
her  tiny  tight  curls  bobbed  up  and  down  distract- 
ingly. 

"It  won't  do,"  she  said. 

"What  won't  do?"  I  asked. 

"Your  trying  to  boss  me  won't  do,  my  trying 
to  pretend  won't  do." 

"What  are  you  trying  to  pretend,  Wanza?" 

"That  I'm  crazy  about  the  big  man.     I  ain't." 

"Oh?  Well,  I  really  would  have  no  right  to 
object  if  you  found  him  attractive.  I  dare  say 
I  have  seemed  rather  dictatorial,"  I  answered 
chivalrously. 

"And  something  else  won't  do." 

"Pray  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"It  won't  do  for  you  to  pretend,  either." 

"I?    What  do  I  pretend?" 

She  eyed  me  gravely,  pulled  a  blade  of  grass, 
blew  on  it,  and  cast  it  aside. 

"Lot  of  things,"  she  said  then. 

"Do  I,  Wanza?" 

"But  I  can  stand  anything — anything,"  she 
threw  out  both  hands,  "except  being  bossed.  I 
can't  stand  that." 

"No  one  could,"  I  agreed. 


"And  you  mustn't  try  it  on,  because  if  you 
do! — me  and  you  will  part  company." 

I  was  surprised  at  the  hard  glint  in  her  eyes, 
the  inflexible  tone  of  her  voice.  Her  face  was 
quite  unlovely  at  that  moment. 

"Child,  child,"  I  began  impulsively,  but  I 
hesitated  and  said  nothing  more,  for  her  eyes  with 
their  strange  hardness  seemed  the  eyes  of  a 
stranger. 

The  crisp,  blue  morning  paved  the  way  to  a  hot, 
still  day.  I  drove  to  the  village  for  supplies  in 
the  afternoon,  and  after  supper  I  was  glad  to 
rest  on  the  river  bank,  with  Joey  sprawling  on 
the  grass  at  my  side.  The  moon  rose  early  and 
climbed  into  the  purple  pavilion  above  us,  spray- 
ing the  world  with  a  wash  of  gold.  The  night 
became  serene,  almost  solemn ;  one  big,  bright  star 
burst  upon  our  sight  from  the  top  of  a  low  ridge 
of  hills  opposite,  and  threw  a  linked,  sliding  silver 
bridge  from  one  plush  river  bank  to  the  other. 
It  looked  like  some  strange  aerial  craft  fired  with 
unearthly  splendor,  and  propelled  by  unguessed 
sorcery.  I  was  glad  to  forget  the  tawdry, 
painted  day  that  was  slipping  into  the  arms  of 
night.  It  had  been  a  fretting  day  in  many  par- 
ticulars. My  morning  with  Wanza  had  irked 
me,  I  had  had  almost  no  conversation  with 

203 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Haidee,  and  Mrs.  Olds  had  been  exceedingly  ar- 
bitrary during  the  evening  meal  in  the  hot,  stuffy 
little  kitchen.  The  calm  evening  hour  was  like 
a  benediction  to  me,  and  Joey's  tender  little  hand 
stroking  mine  soothed  me  inexpressibly. 

I  was  hoping  to  escape  without  the  usual  sleep- 
time  story,  but  one  glance  at  the  eager  face 
showed  me  that  the  lad  was  eagerly  expecting  its 
spinning.  And  his  first  words  were  evidently 
meant  to  act  as  an  impetus. 

"If  you  was  to  tell  me  a  story,  Mr.  David, 
would  it  be  a  fairy  one,  do  you  think  ?  Or  would 
it  be  about  a  bear,  do  you  'spose,  or  a — a  tiger?" 

I  am  afraid  I  spoke  rather  impatiently. 

"Aren't  you  tired  of  bears  and  tigers  yet, 
Joey?" 

A  wistful  voice  replied: 

"Did  you  get  tired  of  'em  when  you  was  little, 
Mr.  David?" 

"No,  no,"  I  answered  hastily,  "of  course,  I  did 
not." 

The  lad  rolled  over  until  his  brown  head  rested 
against  my  knee. 

"To-night  I'd  liever  hear  about  fairies." 

"Honestly,  Joey?" 

"Yep!  Criss  cross  my  heart  and  hope  to  die. 
I  like  to  hear  about  Dwainies." 

204 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

"Who  calls  them  Dwainies?" 

"Her— Bell  Brandon." 

The  dear  honiey  name !  I  smiled  down  into  the 
boy's  brown  eyes.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  should  enjoy  a  talk  about  Dwainies. 

"Well,"  I  began,  "I  shall  tell  you  a  story  of  a 
Dwainie  called  Arethusa.  Say  it  after  me,  Joey. 
Arethusa." 

"Arethusa,"  he  repeated  painstakingly. 

"Arethusa  was  a  nymph.  She  lived  in  a  place 
called  Arcadia.  And  she  slept  on  a  couch  of 
snow  in  the  Acroceraunian  mountains.  Don't 
interrupt,  please,  Joey! — " 

"I  was  only  trying  to  say  that  big  word — it's 
hard  enough  to  say  the  name  of  our  own  moun- 
tains— but  Ac — Aero — " 

"Never  mind.  It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to 
remember  all  the  names  in  my  stories,  only  the 
names  I  ask  you  to  remember." 

"Bell  Brandon  says  you're  teaching  me  funny 
that  way.  She  says  you're  teaching  me  stories  of 
the  old  world  before  you  teach  me  to  speak  good 
English.  What's  good  English,  Mr.  David?" 

"Never  mind,  lad,"  I  murmured  confusedly. 
My  wonder  woman  was  quite  right,  Joey's  Eng- 
lish was  reprehensible;  but  I  confess  I  secretly 
enjoyed  it — there  was  something  eminently 

205 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Joeyish  about  it — a  quaintness  that  I  found  irre- 
sistible. I  smiled,  and  sighed,  and  continued, 
"Arethusa's  hair  was  rainbow  colored,  and  her 
eyes  were  sky  blue,  and  her  cheeks  coral.  Glid- 
ing and  springing  she  went,  ever  singing;  you 
see,  she  was  not  only  beautiful,  but  light  hearted 
and  pure.  The  Earth  loved  her,  and  the  Heaven 
smiled  above  her.  Now  Alpheus  was  a  river- 
god.  He  sat  very  often  on  a  glacier — a  cold,  cold 
glacier,  and  whenever  he  struck  the  mountains 
with  his  trident  great  chasms  would  open,  and  the 
whole  world  about  would  shake.  He  saw  the 
Dwainie  Arethusa,  one  day,  and  as  she  ran  he 
followed  the  fleet  nymph's  flight  to  the  brink  of 
the  Dorian  sea." 

"Oh,  oh,"  breathed  my  listener,  eyes  distended, 
and  lips  apart.  "Did  he  catch  her?" 

"He  followed  her  to  the  brink — the  edge,  Joey 
— of  the  sea.  Arethusa  cried:  'Oh,  save  me! 
Oh,  guide  me !  And  bid  the  deep  hide  me,  for  he 
grasps  me  now  by  the  hair — ' ' 

"Her  rainbow  hair?" 

"Yes,  yes, — don't  interrupt." 

"Who  did  she  yell  to?" 

"The  loud  Ocean  heard.  It  stirred,  and  di- 
vided— parted,  boy — and  'under  the  water  the 
Earth's  white  daughter  fled  like  a  sunny  beam.' ' 

206 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

"Hm!    What  did  the  river-god  do  then?" 

"He  pursued  her.  He  descended  after  her. 
'Like  a  gloomy  stain  on  the  emerald  main.' ' 

"But  did  he  get  her,  Mr.  David?" 

"Well,  Arethusa  was  changed  into  a  stream  by 
Diana,  and  the  stream  was  turned  into  a  fountain 
in  the  island  of  Ortygia,  and  Alpheus  the  river- 
god  still  pursuing  her,  finally  won  her,  and  they 
dwelt  single-hearted  in  the  fountains  of  Enna's 
mountains." 

There  was  a  burst  of  roguish  laughter  behind 
me. 

"What  a  classic  tale  for  a  child  mind,"  a  light 
voice  cried. 

Haidee  stood  among  the  shadows  of  the  cotton- 
woods,  swaying  between  her  crutches. 

"Mrs.  Olds  has  sent  me  in  search  of  you.  The 
canteen  you  soldered  for  her  patient's  use  has 
come  unsoldered,  the  tin  lining  of  the  fireless 
cooker  has  sprung  a  leak,  the  big  man  has  to  be 
lifted  while  his  bed  is  being  changed,  and  she 
wants  to  know  if  you  forgot  to  purchase  the 
malted  milk  this  afternoon — she  can't  find  it  any- 
where. She  said,  too,  that  you  had  signified  your 
intention  of  rubbing  soap  on  the  doors  to  prevent 
their  squeaking.  She  also  said  something  about 
procrastination,  but  it  sounded  hackneyed — quite 

207 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

as  if  I  had  heard  it  somewhere  before — so  I  left 
rather  precipitately." 

All  the  while  I  was  soldering  the  canteen  for 
the  big  man's  feet,  I  could  hear  Wanza  chattering 
blithely  with  the  patient  in  the  front  room.  She 
came  out  to  me  after  awhile,  and  stood  at  my 
elbow  as  I  examined  the  cooker.  I  frowned  at 
her,  and  received  a  moue  in  return. 

"I've  been  telling  the  big  man  about  my 
peddler's  cart,"  she  ventured  finally.  "He's  so 
set  on  seeing  it,  soon  as  he's  well  enough !  Seems 
he  never  saw  one.  He  can't  talk  much,  he's  that 
weak  yet — like  a  baby!  But  I  can  talk  to  him." 

"I  shall  not  ask  you  not  to  talk  with  him,  again, 
Wanza,"  I  announced. 

"It's  just  as  well,  seeing  as  I  know  what  I'm 
about.  Land!  the  poor  man!  He  needs  some 
one  to  talk  to  him.  I  don't  notice  you  hurting 
yourself  seeing  after  him,  Mr.  David  Dale!" 

I  felt  very  weary  and  intolerably  disgusted 
with  everything,  and  I  answered  sharply,  "That's 
my  own  affair."  The  next  minute  I  saw  the 
blood  spurt  from  my  palm,  and  realized  even  as 
Wanza  cried  out  that  I  had  cut  myself  rather 
badly  on  the  tin  lining  of  the  cooker.  I  turned 
faint  and  dizzy,  and  opening  the  door  I  plunged 
out  into  the  night  air  followed  closely  by  Wanza. 

208 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

"It's  nothing,"  I  kept  saying,  keeping  my 
hand  behind  me  as  she  would  have  examined  it. 

"Please — please,  Mr.  Dale,  let  me  look  at  it." 

She  pressed  forward  to  my  side  and  reached 
around  behind  me  for  my  hand.  I  could  feel  her 
quivering  in  every  limb. 

"It's  nothing,"  I  maintained,  though  the  pain 
was  intense,  and  the  rapid  flow  of  blood  was 
weakening  me. 

"It  is  something.  Oh,  if  only  to  be  kind  to 
me,  Mr.  Dale,  let  me  have  your  hand!" 

We  struggled,  my  other  arm  went  around  her, 
and  I  attempted  to  draw  her  back  and  sweep 
her  around  to  my  uninjured  side.  I  was  ob- 
stinate and  angry,  and  she  was  persistent  and 
tearful,  and  we  wrestled  like  two  foolish  children. 
"Please,  please,"  she  kept  repeating,  and  I  re- 
iterated, "No."  It  must  have  looked  uncom- 
monly like  a  love  scene  to  a  casual  onlooker, 
and  Haidee's  voice  speaking  through  the  dusk 
gave  me  an  odd  thrill. 

"I  have  called  and  called  you,  Wanza,"  she 
was  saying.  "Will  you  go  to  Mrs.  Olds,  please? 
I  think  she  wants  water  from  the  spring,  or  the 
malted  milk  prepared,  or — or  something  equally 
trivial." 

I  released  my  prisoner  and  she  sped  away.  I 
209 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

was  left  to  peer  through  the  darkness  at  Haidee 
and  vainly  conjure  my  mind  for  something  to 
say.  The  drip,  drip  of  the  blood  from  my  cut 
on  to  the  maple  leaves  at  my  feet,  gave  me  a  dis- 
agreeable sensation.  I  felt  weakened,  and  slow 
in  every  pulse.  I  thought  of  words,  but  had  no 
will  to  voice  them,  and  so  I  stood  staring  stupidly 
at  the  vision  before  me.  She  spoke  with  a 
strange  little  gasp  in  her  voice  at  last. 

"I  think  I  have  been  mistaken  in  you,  Mr. 
Dale." 

"You  are  making  a  mistake  now,"  I  replied 
hoarsely.  There  was  a  peculiar  singing  in  my 
ears,  and  a  buzzing  in  my  brain  where  small 
wheels  seemed  to  be  grinding  round,  so  that  my 
tone  was  not  convincing,  and  as  I  spoke  I  leaned 
my  shoulder  against  a  tree  from  sheer  weakness. 
In  my  own  ears  my  words  sounded  shallow  and 
ineffectual.  I  tried  to  speak  again  but  suc- 
ceededed  in  making  only  a  clicking  sound  in  my 
throat.  I  felt  myself  slipping  weakly  lower  and 
lower,  though  I  dug  my  feet  into  the  turf  and 
braced  my  knees  heroically.  Faster  and  faster 
the  wheels  went  round.  I  felt  that  Haidee  was 
moving  toward  the  cabin  away  from  me.  I  tried 
to  call  her  name.  But  I  was  floundering  in  a 
quagmire  of  unreality;  I  groped  in  a  dubious 

210 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

morass  darkly,  straining  toward  the  light.  My 
knees  felt  like  pulp,  they  yielded  completely  and 
I  slid  ignominiously  to  the  ground,  rolled  over, 
and  lay  inert,  waves  of  darkness  washing  over 
me. 

It  was  Joey  who  found  me,  whose  tears  on  my 
face  aroused  me.  His  grief  was  wild.  His 
lamentations  echoed  around  me.  He  was  moan- 
ing forth:  "Mr.  David,  Mr.  David,"  in  a 
frenzy,  laying  his  face  on  mine,  patting  my 
cheeks,  lifting  my  eyelids  with  trembling  fingers. 
"Are  you  killed?  Are  you  killed?"  I  heard  him 
wail.  "Oh  dear,  dear,  my  own  Mr.  David, 
please  open  your  eyes  and  speak  to  Joeyl" 

A  light  from  a  lantern  struck  blindingly  into 
my  eyes  as  I  unclosed  them  and  I  quickly  lowered 
my  lids.  But  my  lad  had  seen  the  sign  of  life 
and  I  heard  him  call:  "Wanza,  Wanza,  come 
quick !  Mr.  David  is  laying  here  all  bloody  and 
hurted." 

I  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture  as  Wanza 
came  forward  at  a  run,  swinging  her  lantern.  A 
few  minutes  later  I  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  work- 
shop while  Wanza  bathed  and  dressed  my  hand 
and  gave  me  a  sip  of  brandy  from  a  bottle  she 
found  in  the  cupboard  over  one  of  the  small 
windows.  I  was  ashamed  of  my  weakness  and  I 

211 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

apologized  for  it,  explaining  that  I  had  never 
been  able  to  endure  the  sight  of  blood  with  forti- 
tude, and  admitting  that  the  tin  had  cut  rather 
deep. 

"Now  you  just  crawl  into  bed  and  go  to  sleep 
and  forget  all  about  it,"  she  crooned,  mothering 
me,  with  a  gentle  hand  on  my  hair.  She  went  to 
my  bunk  in  the  corner,  shook  up  the  pillows  and 
straightened  the  blankets,  and  catching  up  the 
pail  of  water  filled  the  basin  on  the  wash  bench. 
"Wash  your  face  and  hands,  you  Joe,"  she  or- 
dered. "Then  come  outside  and  I'll  hear  you  say 
your  prayers." 

I  was  lying  in  my  bunk  half  asleep,  though 
tortured  by  the  remembrance  of  Haidee's  words, 
when  I  heard  the  following  oddly  disjointed 
prayer  from  the  river  bank. 

"Now  I  lay  me — Oh,  God,  thank  you  for  not 
letting  Mr.  David  bleed  to  death — I  pray  the 
Lord — 'Cause  if  he  had  bled  to  death  I'd  want 
to  die  too — my  soul  to  keep — he's  all  I  got,  and 
I  want  to  thank  you  for  him,  God —  Wait, 
Wanza,  this  is  a  new  prayer  I'm  saying!  I  am 
going  to  ask  God  to  bless  you,  too.  Bless 
Wanza,  please,  God, — but  bless  Mr.  David  the 
most, — oh,  the  most  of  anybody  in  the  whole 
world!  Amen." 


WE  HAVE  AN  ADVENTURE 

Soon  Joey  came  pattering  in  to  the  shop  and 
very  gingerly  crawled  in  beside  me.  He  was 
asleep,  and  I  was  lying  miserably  brooding, 
when  Wanza  called  softly  just  outside  the  win- 
dow: "Mr.  Dale — hoo-hoo!" 

"Yes,  Wanza?"  I  answered. 

"I've  been  to  the  cabin — in  the  cedar  room — 
talking  with  Mrs.  Batterly.  I  told  her  all  about 
your  cutting  your  hand,  and — and  how  you  would 
not  let  me  look  at  it — and  how  silly  I  was,  trying 
to  make  you — when  she  come  up.  I  told  her  how 
I  found  you  on  the  ground — and — and  every- 
thing. Go  to  sleep  now." 

"I  shall,  Wanza.  Thank  you,"  I  cried  grate- 
fully. 


213 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  DEEAM   IN   THE  DINGLE 

A  FEW  days  later  I  was  summoned  to  the 
big  man's  side  as  he  sat,  fully  dressed 
for  the  first  time,  outside  the  cabin  in  the 
shade  of  a  cedar.  I  sat  beside  him  while  he 
thanked  me  for  my  hospitality,  and  said  it  was 
his  intention  to  push  on  to  Roselake  and  thence 
to  Wallace  that  very  afternoon. 

"I  have  business  to  transact  there  for  my 
partner,  Dick  Bailey,  who  died  in  Alaska  last 
winter,"  he  said,  and  stopped  short,  looking  at 
me  with  a  sudden  question  in  his  eyes.  "By  the 
bye,  you  people  seem  to  be  laboring  under  the 
impression  that  my  name  is  Bailey,"  he  added. 

"Mrs.  Olds  found  the  name  on  a  pocketbook 
you  carried,"  I  explained. 

"To  be  sure — I  was  carrying  an  old  wallet  of 
Bailey's.  Our  initials  are  the  same,  too."  He 
fell  to  musing,  wrinkling  his  brows.  But  instead 
of  telling  me  his  name,  he  went  on  presently: 
"You  are  master  of  a  somewhat  unusual  house- 


hold,  Dale.  I  am  vastly  interested.  You're  a 
lucky  dog  to  have  such  a  Hebe  for  a  protegee  as 
the  girl  Wanza,  such  an  infant  prodigy  as  that 
young  scamp,  who  shows  fine  discrimination,  and 
glowers  at  me  from  the  kitchen  door,  for  an 
adopted  son, — and  who  is  the  interesting  lady 
patient  on  whom  Wanza  waits  and  who  is  shut 
up  in  a  Blue  Beard's  closet  next  my  room?  I 
have  a  sly  sure  instinct  that  tells  me  she  is  the 
most  wonderful  of  the  lot." 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  face.  The  leer  with 
which  he  accompanied  his  words  was  rakish,  and 
his  handsome  face  smirked  disgustingly. 

"She  is  an  unfortunate  neighbor  of  mine,  who 
was  crippled  by  a  falling  tree  the  night  of  the 
storm,"  I  answered  coldly. 

He  gave  me  a  quizzical  glance,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  exclaimed  laughingly: 

"Beauty  in  distress!  Don  Quixote  to  the 
rescue.  You're  the  sort  of  chap,  I  fancy,  Dale, 
who  goes  about  tilting  at  windmills.  You  be- 
long to  a  past  generation.  But  it  is  lucky  for 
me  I  stumbled  across  you.  Well,  I  care  not  to 
pry  into  your  Blue  Beard's  closet — the  girl 
Wanza  is  a  piquant  enough  little  devil  for  me — " 

"Just  speak  more  respectfully  of  her,  if  you 
must  speak  at  all,"  I  interrupted  with  heat. 

215 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Don  Quixote,  Don  Quixote,"  he  murmured, 
wagging  a  broad  finger  at  me,  and  shaking  his 
head  playfully. 

I  said  something  beneath  my  breath,  and  rose 
from  my  chair  hastily. 

"Wait!  Wait!"  he  cried.  "Don't  let  your 
choler  rise.  Sit  down.  We  will  not  discuss  the 
ladies.  I  was  about  to  tell  you  my  name,  and 
give  you  my  credentials — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly.  Joey  was  issuing 
from  the  elder  bushes  piping  on  his  flute.  As  I 
listened,  a  voice  from  the  Dingle  caught  up  the 
refrain,  a  voice  high  and  sweet  and  clear. 

"Bell  Brandon  was  the  birdling  of  the  mountains — " 

The  line  ended  in  a  ripple  of  laughter.  The 
man  before  me  half  raised  in  his  seat.  Then 
sweeter  and  lower: 

"And  I  loved  the  little  beauty,  Bell  Brandon — 
And  she  sleeps  'neath  the  old  arbor  tree." 

The  underbrush  parted  and  Haidee  came 
toward  us,  leaning  slightly  on  one  crutch.  In 
her  hand  she  carried  a  great  bunch  of  pink  spirea. 
Each  cheek  was  delicately  brushed  with  color,  her 
star-eyes  were  agleam,  her  lips  curved  with 
laughter. 

216 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

And  then,  all  suddenly,  the  dimples  and 
laughter  and  life  fled  from  her  beautiful  face,  her 
eyes  turned  dull  and  anguished.  She  was  look- 
ing at  the  big  man,  and  he  was  looking  at  her. 
His  pasty  face  was  gray  as  ashes.  His  little  eyes 
contracted  to  pin-points. 

Haidee's  dry  lips  writhed  apart.  One  word 
dropped  from  them: 

"You!" 

She  crouched  forward,  peered  at  him  intently 
through  the  soft  green  shadows  of  the  cedars,  her 
eyes  growing  bigger  as  if  wild  with  a  sudden  hope 
that  they  might  have  played  her  a  trick.  And 
then  gradually  the  intentness  left  them,  they 
hardened,  and  her  whole  face  stiffened,  and  grew 
white  and  grim. 

The  big  man  had  risen.  He  took  a  step  for- 
ward now.  There  was  something  bullying  in  his 
attitude,  something  implacable  in  his  altered  face. 
His  light  eyes  had  a  sinister  gleam,  but  his  savoir- 
faire  did  not  desert  him.  He  spoke  to  me,  but 
his  eyes  never  left  the  marble  face  of  the  woman 
who  confronted  him. 

"Mr.  Dale,"  he  said  with  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
"pardon  our  agitation.  I  am  Randall  Batterly. 
This  is  the  first  time  my  wife  and  I  have  met  in 
five  years." 

217 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  reached  Haidee's  side  just  in  time,  for  the 
crutch  slipped  from  her  grasp,  and  she  would 
have  fallen  but  for  my  steadying  arm. 

Joey,  the  dauntless,  sprang  forward  and 
menaced  the  big  man  with  threatening,  childish 
fist.  "You  leave  my  Bell  Brandon  alone!"  he 
screamed,  "y°u  leave  her  alone — you  big,  bad 
man!  I  wish  we'd  let  you  die,  I  do." 

I  placed  Haidee  in  a  chair.  I  took  Joey's 
hand  and  led  him  indoors.  I  heard  a  wild  cry 
ring  out: 

"I  thought  you  were  dead  in  the  Yukon,  Ran- 
dall Batterly,  I  thought  you  were  dead.  I  hate 
you!  I  hate  you!" 

I  closed  the  door  on  her  agonized  weep- 
ing. 

Before  the  big  man  left  that  day  he  sent  Wanza 
to  ask  me  to  come  to  him  in  the  living  room.  I 
was  in  my  workshop,  and  I  shook  my  head  when 
the  message  was  delivered.  In  the  mood  I  was 
in  then  it  was  well  for  me  not  to  go  to  him.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  expression  on  Mrs.  Olds' 
face  when  she  sought  me  in  the  shop  a  half  hour 
later  to  bid  me  good-bye.  She  had  found,  at  last, 
food  for  her  prying,  suspicious  mind. 

"I  am  that  shocked  and  surprised,  Mr.  Dale !" 
she  gasped,  all  of  a  flutter.  "Why,  I'm  just 

218 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

trembly !  I  heard  high  voices,  and  I  stole  out  on 
the  porch,  and  there  they  were,  saying  such 
dreadful,  dreadful  things  to  each  other!  And 
isn't  it  odd,  Mr.  Dale,  that  they  should  come  to- 
gether here  in  this  remote — I  was  going  to  say 
God  forsaken — spot,  this  way?  Now,  don't  you 
suppose  they  will  patch  up  their  differences?  I 
should  think  they  might — they're  young  folks — 
it  seems  a  pity  the  amount  of  domestic  infelicity 
nowadays — and  they  are  a  likely  fine  looking 
couple."  She  drew  breath,  shook  her  head,  and 
paused  dramatically. 

I  felt  her  fish-eyes  searching  my  face. 

Then  she  broke  out,  as  I  maintained  an  ap- 
parently unruffled  front: 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Dale,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say 
all  I  think — not  for  me  to  say  whose  is  the  fault. 
But  I  must  say  I  am  surprised  and  disappointed 
— yes,  and  shocked — shocked,  Mr.  Dale,  that 
Mrs.  Batterly,  a  married  woman,  should  proclaim 
herself  a  widow.  When  a  woman  will  do  that — 
why,  what  is  one  to  think!  I  can't  abide  du- 
plicity. To  my  notion  there  is  absolutely  no  ex- 
cuse for  that,  Mr.  Dale.  And  if  she  did  not 
know  her  husband  was  alive — well,  I  have  no 
words." 

I  was  sullen-hearted  enough,  God  knows,  and 
219 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Mrs.  Olds'  inane,  arrogant  drivel  was  like  tinder 
on  a  blown  fire.  I  was  wild  as  an  enraged  bull 
who  has  the  red  scarf  flaunted  in  his  long  suffer- 
ing face.  I  thrust  out  my  chin  and  I  squared  my 
shoulders,  and  I  know  my  face  must  have  grown 
ugly  with  my  red-eyed  anger. 

If  I  had  spoken  then,  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Olds 
could  have  guessed  most  accurately  at  the  state 
of  my  heart  with  regard  to  Haidee.  But  just  at 
that  moment  the  cedar  waxwing  left  its  cage, 
circled  about  my  head,  and  descended  to  settle  in 
the  crook  of  my  arm.  I  straightened  my  arm, 
and  it  hopped  to  my  outspread  palm,  looking  up 
at  me  with  pert,  bright  eyes.  In  that  short  space 
during  which  the  bird  poised  there,  I  thought  of  a 
hundred  poignant  things  to  say  to  Mrs.  Olds. 
But  the  bird  flew  away  and  I  said  not  one  of 
them. 

After  I  had  bidden  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Olds 
there  was  Wanza  still  to  be  reckoned  with.  I  had 
just  seen  from  my  window  the  flurried  departure 
of  the  nurse  and  her  patient  on  the  afternoon 
stage  when  I  heard  a  tentative  voice  at  my  elbow, 
murmur:  "Mr.  Dale." 

I  am  sure  there  must  have  been  a  certain  fierce- 
ness in  my  bearing  as  I  wheeled  about.  But  I 
was  all  unprepared  for  the  fervid  face  that  my 

220 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

lips  almost  brushed  as  I  turned,  the  depth  of 
emotion  in  the  burningly  blue  eyes. 

"Don't !"  she  breathed,  as  I  faced  her.  "Don't, 
please!" 

"Don't  what,  child?"  I  articulated. 

"Don't  look  at  me  so  sharp — so  awfull"  Her 
voice  thinned,  as  if  she  were  going  to  cry.  Her 
brown,  pleading  hands  came  out  to  me.  "I  only 
want  to  say  good-bye." 

As  I  still  stood  woodenly,  looking  at  her,  she 
moved  back  with  a  swift  jerk  of  her  slim  body 
and  put  her  hands  behind  her.  Her  face  altered. 
It  whitened,  and  she  let  her  lids  droop  over  eyes 
suddenly  hot  with  resentment.  Feeling  like  a 
brute  I  made  haste  to  intercept  the  hands.  I 
slipped  my  arms  about  her,  caught  the  hands,  and 
drew  them  around  against  my  chest.  I  think  I 
had  never  liked  Wanza  better  than  at  that 
moment  in  her  hurt  pride,  and  womanliness. 

"Dear  Wanza,"  I  said,  "my  dear  child — " 

She  pressed  against  me  suddenly,  and  put  her 
soft  cheek  against  my  sleeve. 

"What  is  it,  child,  what  is  it?"  I  begged.  I 
put  my  hand  gently  on  her  hair. 

"I'm  going  away,  Mr.  Dale — I'm  going  I  I 
been  so  happy  here — with  you  and  Joey  and  the 
birds." 

221 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Her  breaths  were  sobs. 

It  was  my  turn  to  say  "Don't!"  I  said  it  im- 
ploringly, and  I  added:  "I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  cry,  Wanza." 

"Oh,  let  me  cry!  I'm  upset,  and  nervous,  and 
— and  sad — I  guess  you'd  call  it.  I'm  going  on 
home  now,  and  set  things  to  rights  a  bit,  and  to- 
night I'm  going  to  Hidden  Lake  to  stay  with 
Mrs.  Batterly.  I  promised." 

"She  needs  you,  Wanza,"  I  said. 

"I  was  to  ask  you  if  you  would  ride  through 
the  woods  with  her,  in  a  half  hour.  She's  not 
quite  fit  to  go  alone,  Mr.  Dale."  Suddenly 
Wanza  broke  into  a  tempest  of  tears,  and  sobbed 
and  shook,  huddled  against  my  shoulder,  stam- 
mering: "Everything  is  upside  down — upside 
down!  But — yes,  Mr.  Dale,  I  am  glad — glad — 
that  Mrs.  Batterly  has  got  a  husband  living. 
He's  probably  a  bad  man,  and  if  she  wanted  to 
run  away  it  was  all  right  and  nobody's  business. 
But  it  had  to  come  out  that  she  had  a  husband, 
and  I'm  glad  it's  come — that's  all!  I'm  glad  it's 
come — now — afore — ' ' 

I  looked  down  at  the  opulent  fleece  of  hair 
spinning  into  artless  spirals  of  maze  against  my 
shoulder,  and  I  threaded  a  curl  through  my 
fingers  absently  before  I  probed  this  significant, 

222 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

stumbling  final  sentence.  Then  I  caught  at  the 
lost  word.  "Before,  Wanza?  Before — what!" 

"Before  you  got  to  thinking  too  much  of  her." 

I  laughed.  I  stood  away  from  the  child  and 
laughed  ironically.  The  laugh  saved  the  situa- 
tion. Wanza  raised  her  head,  gave  a  watery 
smile,  and  flung  out. 

"You  needn't  laugh.  You  were  thinking  too 
much  of  her — you  know  you  was." 

"Please,  Wanza,— don't !" 

"Now  your  face  is  black  again."  Wanza's 
mood  changed  swiftly.  "Oh,  Mr.  Dale,  I  have  a 
weight  here,"  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  chest.  "I 
feel  things  pressing, — awful  things !  What's  go- 
ing to  happen,  do  you  think,  that  I  feel  so  queer 
and  blue  and  bad?" 

I  shook  my  head.     She  went  on  quickly : 

"Of  course  I'm  broke  up  about  leaving  Cedar 
Dale  just  now,  I  just  can't  bear  to  quit  you 
and  Joey — and  the  birds — and  squirrels — and 
flowers — " 

The  tears  were  brimming  up  again  in  the 
velvet-blue  eyes.  I  walked  over  to  the  wax- 
wing's  cage,  snapped  shut  the  door  on  the  tiny 
prisoner,  and  handed  the  cage  to  Wanza. 

"Take  him  with  you,"  I  bade  her. 

With  the  cage  clasped  in  her  arms,  her  eyes 
223 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

flooded  with  tears,  but  with  smiles  on  her  mobile 
lips,  she  went  from  the  shop,  backward,  step  by 
step. 

After  Wanza  came  Joey.  A  transfigured 
Joey.  Wild  with  rage  at  the  big  man,  threaten- 
ing, and  bombastic.  Then  softening  into  plain- 
tive grief,  wailing: 

"Oh,  Mr.  David,  my  Bell  Brandon's  going! 
She's  going!  She  won't  be  here  to-night  for 
my  sleep-time  story.  She  won't  be  here  when  I 
wake  up  to-morrow.  She  won't  ever  stay  here 
again." 

"No,  lad,"  I  replied. 

"Won't  she,  don't  you  'spose?  P'r'aps  if  she 
don't  like  it  at  Hidden  Lake  she'll  come  back. 
Don't  you  think  she'll  come  again,  Mr.  David?" 

"No,"  I  repeated,  sadly. 

He  sniffled.  Then  he  said,  in  a  frightened 
tone,  "Wanza  ain't  going  too,  is  she?" 

"Yes,  Joey." 

He  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes.  He 
swallowed.  Then  he  said,  winking  hard,  "I'll 
miss  Bell  Brandon,  but  I'll  miss  Wanza  most." 

After  a  moment,  I  ventured: 

"You  have  me,  Joey." 

He  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes  again, 
gulped,  and  muttered: 

224 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

"I'm  'shamed.  I  love  you  most!  But  she's 
mothery — Wanza  is,  that's  it!" 

Mothery — Wanza  of  the  wind's  will — 
mothery ! 

I  keep  a  picture  still  in  my  mind  of  that  last  day 
on  which  I  rode  through  the  forest  with  Haidee  to 
Hidden  Lake.  Rain  had  drenched  the  earth  the 
previous  night,  and  though  the  sun  smiled  from  a 
cloudless  sky,  the  roads  were  heavy  and  our 
horses'  progress  slow.  There  was  a  languid 
drowsiness  in  the  air,  enhanced  by  the  low,  in- 
cessant singing  of  catbird,  robin  and  lark,  and 
the  overpowering  scent  of  syringa  and  rose.  We 
chose  a  shadowy  trail,  and  our  heads  were  brushed 
by  white-armed  flowery  hawthorns,  while  honey- 
suckle threw  fragrant  tendrils  across  our  way. 
The  woods  glowed  emerald-green,  and  dappled 
gray,  gemmed  here  and  there  with  dogwood; 
great  plumes  of  spirea  rose  like  pink  clouds  in  the 
purple  vistas.  Small  hollows  held  crystal-clear 
water,  and  up  from  these  hollows  floated  swarms 
of  azure  butterflies.  We  crossed  a  swift  running 
stream;  and  before  us,  between  smooth,  mossy 
banks  fern-topped,  lay  a  cup-like  dell,  shut  in  by 
shrubs  and  vines.  I  drew  rein,  and  dismounted, 
and  Haidee  with  a  swift  glance  at  my  face  drew 
in  her  mare. 

225 


I  went  to  her  side. 

She  held  some  purple  flowers  in  the  bend  of 
her  arm,  flowers  that  Joey  had  given  her,  she 
fingered  the  petals  with  a  caressing  touch.  Her 
head  drooped  slightly,  but  her  eyes  met  mine 
questioningly.  The  pallor  of  her  face  but  made 
it  more  exquisite.  Her  gown  was  gray.  Its 
folds  rippled  about  her  slight  form.  She  seemed 
like  some  grave-eyed  spirit.  Her  hair  was  in 
braids,  outlining  the  ivory  of  her  face.  A  scarf 
of  white  muslin  left  her  warm  throat  bare. 

I  strove  for  words.     But  I  could  only  whisper : 

"I  am  your  friend.  Never  forget.  If  danger 
ever  threatens  you — " 

"If  danger  ever  threatened  me,  I  believe  that 
you  would  intervene — you  are  a  brave  man, 
David  Dale.  But  I  shall  live  safely — going  on 
with  my  even  life — in  my  little  cabin,  with  good 
Wanza  for  a  companion.  I  have  had  a  shock, 
Mr.  Dale,"  her  voice  quivered,  her  lips  whitened 
with  the  words,  "oh,  such  a  shock!  It  is  better 
not  to  speak  of  it.  Not  at  least  unless  I  tell 
you  all  there  is  to  tell,  and  I  am  not  ready  as  yet 
to  do  that."  She  struggled  with  herself.  She 
drew  a  deep  breath.  "But  I  came  here  to  work! 
I  shall  work  as  I  have  planned  until  autumn,  then 
— well,  I  do  not  know  what  then.  You  heard 

226 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

much  yesterday — you  know  my  attitude  toward 
the  man  who  is  my  husband.  I  dare  say  you  are 
shocked,  and  shaken  in  your  chivalrous  estimate 
of  me.  I  cannot  help  that.  I  do  not  feel  that 
I  can  explain — it  goes  too  deep.  It  is  not  to  be 
laid  bare  before — forgive  me — a  stranger." 

She  smiled  at  me  sadly  as  if  to  soften  the  last 
words.  But  hurt  and  amazed,  I  cried: 

"A  stranger!    Am  I  that?" 

A  light  sprang  into  her  eyes,  the  red  came  into 
her  cheeks. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said  again. 

"I  am  your  friend — your  true  friend — no 
stranger."  I  held  out  my  hand.  "I  thought  you 
understood." 

She  kept  her  eyes  upon  me,  but  did  not  seem 
to  see  me.  They  were  hunted,  weary  eyes ;  weary 
to  indifference,  I  saw  suddenly.  And  seeing  this 
I  took  her  slim  fingers  in  mine  and  pressed  them 
very  gently  and  let  them  go. 

Suddenly  her  composure  broke.  She  turned 
whiter,  she  could  scarcely  breathe.  She  moved 
her  head  restlessly.  "I  can't  bear  it — I  can't — I 
can't !  I  wish  I  might  fly  to  the  ends  of  the  earth 
— but  there's  no  escape."  She  brushed  her  hand 
across  her  face.  She  cowered  in  her  saddle. 
"It's  awful!  I  thought  he  was  gone  forever — 

227 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

forever,  do  you  understand?  Oh,  the  freedom, 
the  rest — the  peace!  With  his  return  has  come 
the  shadow  of  an  old,  old  grief.  It  blots  out  the 
sunshine." 

My  lips  twitched  as  I  attempted  soothing 
words.  I  took  her  cold  hands  and  chafed  them. 
"Courage,"  I  whispered.  She  shook  her  head, 
quivering,  panting  and  undone. 

"Oh,  I  was  born  to  live!  Courage?  I  have 
none!" 

She  leaned  forward  and  sunk  her  head  on  the 
pommel  of  the  saddle.  After  a  time  she  swung 
toward  me.  Her  hair  swept  about  her  flaming 
cheeks,  and  veiled  her  burning  eyes.  She  looked 
like  some  hunted  wild  thing. 

"I  hate  him,"  she  hissed.  "He  knows  I  hate 
him.  He  does  not  care." 

We  looked  at  each  other. 

"But  he  cares  for  you,"  I  stated. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  hastily,  "don't  say  that." 

Again  we  scanned  each  other's  faces.  I  spoke 
impetuously : 

"You  believe  in  Destiny.  Well,  so  do  I! 
But  we  are  not  weak  instruments.  You  know 
what  I  mean.  What  law  of  society  compels  you 
to  a  bondage  such  as  you  hint  at?  You  are  a 
strong-minded  woman.  Now  that  you  know  the 

228 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

worst  you  have  weapons  to  fight  with.  As  soon 
as  you  look  about  you — when  you  come  to  face 
the  facts,  you  will  see  this."  I  struggled  with 
my  thoughts,  then  I  threw  wide  my  arms.  "God 
knows  what  I  am  to  say  to  you !" 

She  lifted  up  her  head.  "I  have  promised  him 
to  do  nothing — to  go  on  as  I  have  been — he  will 
not  molest  me." 

I  half  shrugged.  "He  loves  you;  of  course, 
you  believe  that." 

"He  may.  He  protested  that  he  did,  when  I 
told  him  I  must  go  my  way." 

I  heard  her  dully,  my  eyes  on  her  face.  She 
said  a  few  more  words  brokenly,  that  I  scarce 
gave  ear  to.  At  the  conclusion  of  them  I  looked 
away  to  the  purple  wood  vista.  "Why  did  it 
please  God,"  I  said,  "to  have  you  cross  my  path!" 

Tears  filled  her  eyes.  "Those  words  did  not 
sound  like  the  words  of  a  friend." 

"But  they  are  said."  I  moved  away,  she  sat 
brooding.  I  mounted,  and  came  to  her  side. 
"We  are  friends,  we  may  be  friends,  surely! 
May  I  come  to  see  you?" 

"Indeed  you  must  come.  Your  visits  will  be 
welcome."  She  smiled,  but  her  smile  was  twisted 
and  dubious.  "I  expect  great  things  of  Wanza. 
She  will  be  my  entertainer.  She  will  cheer  me. 

229 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Have  Joey  come  to  me — "  Her  voice  failed  her 
utterly.  She  was  pale  again  as  the  syringa 
blooms  at  her  side. 

"We  must  push  on,  now,"  I  said. 

She  gathered  up  her  reins. 

And  so  we  rode  side  by  side  to  the  little  shack 
on  the  shore  of  Hidden  Lake.  But  when  she 
gave  me  her  hand  at  parting,  I  stumblingly  cried : 
"If  he  had  not  come — if  he  had  not  come,  I  should 
have  tried  to  win  your  love!"  Something  in  her 
eyes  caused  me  to  add:  "I  wonder  if  I  should 
have  succeeded." 

She  paled  and  drew  her  hand  from  mine.  "I 
could  have  loved  you,  David  Dale,"  she 
whispered. 

That  night  when  Joey  was  preparing  for  bed 
in  the  cedar  room,  I  spied  a  bit  of  ribbon  the  color 
of  the  gowns  Wanza  wore,  wreathed  in  among 
the  grasses  in  the  magpie's  cage.  And  at  the 
sight  Joey  cried  out : 

"That's  Wanza's.  I  want  her !  I  want  her  to 
come  back  and  stay,  I  do." 

Holding  the  ribbon  in  my  hand,  I  passed  out 
to  the  Dingle. 

Here  I  sat  down  on  the  stump  by  the  pool,  in 
a  ring  of  black  shadow  cast  by  the  cedars,  and 
lifted  my  face  to  the  stars  that  were  shining 

230 


through  the  wattled  green  roof  above  my  head. 
I  was  worn,  physically  and  mentally,  by  the  ex- 
periences of  the  day.  I  sat  there  stupidly,  scarce 
moving,  letting  my  pipe  go  out  as  I  fed  my  grief 
with  memories.  Joey  called  out  at  intervals: 
"Good  night,  Mr.  David,  dear."  Each  time  I 
responded:  "Good  night,  Joey."  At  last  no 
sound  came  from  the  cedar  room.  I  knew  he 
slept.  It  was  very  still  in  the  Dingle.  A  toad 
hopped  across  the  stone  walk  and  a  grass-snake 
flashed  through  the  rose  hedge,  like  a  quick  flame. 
Close  to  the  pool's  brink  the  big  flag-flowers  vacil- 
lated in  a  faint,  upspringing  breeze,  and  the 
rushes  swayed  and  shuddered  above  the  timorous 
bluebells.  The  moon  came  up  slowly,  and  I  saw 
its  face  through  the  tree  spaces.  I  wondered  if 
Haidee  were  watching  it  from  the  shore  of  Hid- 
den Lake.  And  then  a  naked  Desolation  crept 
up  out  of  an  unknown  void,  and  I  saw  the  gleam 
of  its  whitened  bones.  It  gibed  me.  It  trailed 
its  bleached  carcass  across  my  arid  path.  The 
hour  grew  hideous.  I  felt  myself  alone — 
grievously  alone — on  the  verge  of  utmost  soli- 
tude, reaching  out  ineffectual  hands  toward 
emptiness.  I  recoiled,  my  senses  whirling,  from 
the  limitless  nothingness  into  which  my  vision 
pored. 

231 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  was  clammy,  with  a  cold  sweat.  My  throat 
was  dry.  But  the  horror  passed  and  I  grew 
apathetic  at  length,  and  sodden.  Then  calm, 
merely.  Soon  I  grew  strangely  somnolent.  I 
nodded.  But  after  a  space  I  sat  tense,  my  chin 
sunk,  listening.  A  vague  stirring  in  the  night 
chilled  my  blood,  and  at  the  same  time  thrilled 
me.  I  listened  and  watched,  breathing  heavily, 
alert  and  narrow-eyed. 

And  then! 

I  saw  Wanza  part  the  tangles  of  syringa,  and 
stand  pink-robed,  framed  in  white  blossoms. 
Her  face,  rose-tinted  and  impassioned,  was  cur- 
tained on  either  side  by  her  unbound  resplendent 
hair.  Her  eyes,  laughing  and  bright  like  happy 
stars,  shone  through  the  wilderness  of  locks. 
Her  lips,  smooth  and  pink  as  polished  coral, 
smiled  freshly  as  the  lips  of  a  tender  child.  Her 
arms  were  bare.  In  her  strong  brown  hands  she 
bore  a  wooden  cage,  and  the  waxwing  slept 
within,  its  head  beneath  its  wing.  She  hesitated, 
apparently  saw  no  one — listened  and  heard  no 
sound.  She  spurned  her  flowered  frame,  and 
came  springing  forward,  her  short  skirt  fluttering 
above  her  bare  knees,  her  pink  feet  gleaming  in 
the  long  grasses. 

She    passed    close    to    me.    Noiselessly    she 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

swept  to  the  steps  of  the  cedar  room.  She 
mounted.  I  saw  her  pass  through  the  open  door- 
way, where  there  was  a  pale  nimbus  of  light.  I 
saw  her  at  the  window.  She  took  the  magpie's 
cage  from  its  hook,  and  hung  the  waxwing  there 
instead.  Soon  she  reappeared.  She  carried  the 
magpie  in  its  cage.  She  came  down  the  steps, 
and  I  heard  a  voice  like  a  "moon-drowned"  dream 
murmur  roguishly: 

"I  have  left  them  the  waxwing.  But  I  have 
taken  away  the  magpie,  lest  it  tell  my  secrets." 

I  would  have  stopped  her.  But  she  had 
sprung  with  fluttering,  perfumed  haste  through 
the  syringa  frame  and  vanished. 

I  dropped  to  the  turf,  clasped  my  arms  about 
my  head,  and  slept,  a  deep,  refreshing  sleep.  It 
was  dawn  when  I  awakened,  a  pink,  sweet-smell- 
ing dawn,  scintillant  with  promise.  I  went  to  the 
cedar  room,  Joey  slept,  one  arm  thrown  out  above 
his  touseled  head,  the  shawl-flower  quilt  tossed 
aside.  I  covered  him,  and  crossed  to  the  window. 

The  magpie's  cage  swung  in  its  accustomed 
place. 

As  I  approached,  the  bird  fixed  me  with  its 
quick,  bright  eye,  and  chortled: 

"Mr.  David  Dale!  Fixing  man!  Mr.  David 
—dear." 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

How  strange  that  I  should  dream  of  Wanza! 

Dreary  days  followed  for  Joey  and  me. 

As  the  days  began  to  shorten  I  rode  frequently 
to  Captain  Grif 's  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  tak- 
ing Joey  on  the  saddle  behind  me.  And  each 
night  Joey  dropped  asleep  on  the  small  bed 
in  Wanza's  room  while  I  played  a  rubber  of 
chess  with  the  captain.  When  Father  O'Shan 
was  present  a  new  zest  was  given  our  eve- 
nings. 

One  stormy  night  Father  O'Shan,  Joey  and  I 
were  belated  at  the  cottage,  and  the  father  and 
I  kept  our  good  host  up  to  an  unconscionable 
hour  in  the  room  beneath  the  eaves,  while  Joey 
slept  peacefully  on  the  lower  floor.  Father 
O'Shan  was  in  fine  fettle,  and  his  stories  were 
pungent,  his  drollery  inimitable.  As  the  storm 
began  I  rolled  into  the  captain's  bunk  and  lay 
there  in  vast  contentment.  The  port  hole  was 
open,  framing  an  oval  of  purple  sky  and  drifting 
cloud  rack.  My  fantasy  was  so  keen  that  I  could 
fairly  smell  the  odor  of  bilge  and  stale  fish  and 
tar,  and  hear  the  tramp  of  feet  on  the  deck  over 
my  head.  When  the  storm  was  at  its  fiercest, 
and  the  little  cottage  shook  and  the  lightning 
flashed  through  the  port  hole,  it  was  easy  to  cheat 

234 


THE  DREAM  IN  THE  DINGLE 

myself  into  the  belief  that  I  was  experiencing  all 
the  wild  delights  of  a  storm  at  sea. 

The  talk  had  turned  on  the  superstitions  of 
men  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships.  "Lonely 
men  are  superstitious  men,"  the  father  said. 
"There  is  something  about  aloneness  that  en- 
genders visions  and  superstitions.  People  who 
dwell  apart  all  have  their  visions." 

"And  their  madnesses,"  I  interjected.  "Peo- 
ple who  live  at  the  edge  of  things  are  entitled 
to  their  superstitions.  During  the  first  months 
of  my  life  on  my  homestead,  before  Joey's  advent, 
I  had  one  or  two  narrow  squeaks — came  within 
an  ace  of  insanity,  I  believe  now.  I  went  so  far 
that  like  the  man  in  the  story  I  met  myself  coming 
round  the  corner  of  the  cabin  one  day.  I  pulled 
up  then  and  went  to  the  city  for  a  month  and  took 
a  rather  menial  position." 

Father  O'Shan  was  looking  at  me  curiously. 

"I  never  heard  of  that  before,"  he  said.  "You 
pulled  through  all  right." 

"Oh,  yes!  If  it  had  not  been  for  my  dog  I 
might  have  gone  under  the  first  year.  But  the 
dog  was  understanding." 

"A  dog,"  Captain  Grif  explained  carefully, 
"is  the  instinctinest  animal  there  be — and  the 
faithfulest." 

235 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  caught  Father  O' Shan's  eyes  fixed  on  me 
ruminatingly  from  time  to  time  during  the  eve- 
ning. Once  or  twice,  meeting  my  eyes,  he  favored 
me  with  his  rare,  heart-warming  smile.  When  I 
said  good  night  to  him  in  the  village,  leaning  from 
the  saddle  and  shifting  Joey's  sleeping  figure 
somewhat,  in  order  that  I  might  offer  him  my 
hand,  he  pressed  close  to  my  horse's  side  and 
peered  up  at  me  with  friendly  glance  through  the 
semi-darkness  of  the  dimly  lighted  street. 

"Too  bad,  Dale — too  bad,"  he  said  in  his  win- 
ning tones. 

"Eh  ?    Just  what  is  too  bad  ?"  I  asked. 

He  gripped  my  hand. 

"Man,  I'm  sorry  I  did  not  know  you  in  the 
darkest  days — when  the  dog  was  understanding. 
I'd  have  tried  to  be  understanding,  too.  A  pity, 
Dale— a  pity!" 

"Never  mind!" 

"I  shall  pass  through  this  world  but  once,  you 
know — I  don't  want  to  leave  more  things  undone 
than  I  have  to.  But  the  unguessed  things — that 
lurk  quite  obscure — they  have  a  way  of  unearth- 
ing themselves — they  hurt,  Dale !  Why,  my  boy, 
I  rode  past  your  cabin  when  you  were  putting 
the  roof  on!  But  I  was  busy.  I  did  not  stop. 
Oh,  well — I'm  glad  you  had  your  dog!" 

236 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

THE  bathing  and  dressing  of  Joey  on  Sun- 
day morning,  with  Sunday  school  in 
prospect,  had  always  been  an  indeter- 
minate process,  a  sort  of  blind  bargain.  But  with 
each  week  that  was  added  to  his  age  it  became 
not  only  precarious,  but  downright  fagging,  and 
nerve  racking  to  a  degree.  When  he  was  a  wee 
urchin  and  could  go  into  the  wash  tub  in  the 
kitchen  for  his  weekly  scouring,  the  process  was 
comparatively  simple,  but  now  that  his  long  legs 
precluded  that  possibility,  a  liberal  soaping  and 
sponge  bath  beside  the  tub  was  the  alternative, 
and  I  found  the  operation  decidedly  ticklish. 

He  knew  the  minutiae  of  the  bath  so  well  that 
if  I  neglected  the  least  detail,  or  varied  the  pre- 
scribed form,  I  was  called  to  severe  account. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  following  our  late 
evening  at  Captain  Grif 's  we  arose  late,  and  con- 
quently  there  was  a  scramble  to  get  our  breakfast 
over  and  the  water  heated  for  the  bath.  But  in 

237 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

due  time  all  the  preliminaries  were  adjusted  and 
Joey,  stripped  to  the  waist,  knelt  down  beside  the 
tub  according  to  our  usual  custom,  that  I  might 
first  give  his  hair  a  thorough  washing. 

"You  shouldn't  rub  soap  on  it,"  he  demurred, 
as  I  turned  to  the  soap  dish.  "Bell  Brandon  says 
so.  She  says  that's  what  makes  my  hair  so  brash 
and  funny." 

"Brash,  Joey?" 

"That's  what  she  said." 

My  jaw  dropped.  "How  shall  we  get  it  clean, 
boy?" 

"You  make  a  lather.  Shave  off  little  chunks 
of  soap  and  put  'em  in  a  bottle  and  shake  'em  up 
with  water." 

These  directions  were  followed,  and  both  Joey 
and  I  were  gratified  with  the  result,  but  precious 
moments  were  consumed  in  the  process. 

After  that  Joey  got  water  in  his  ear,  and  had  to 
dance  like  a  Piute,  on  one  leg,  and  shake  his  head 
until  it  was  dislodged.  Next  he  sat  on  the  side 
of  the  tub  and  tipped  it  sufficiently  to  deluge  the 
floor  with  half  the  contents.  This  necessitated  a 
scurry  for  the  mop,  and  when  I  rather  curtly  de- 
clined the  lad's  services,  tears  came  to  the  brown 
eyes,  his  head  drooped,  and  quite  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  was  expended  in  salving  his  feelings,  sub- 

238 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

mitting  to  bear  hugs  and  listening  to  assurances 
that  he  had  not  meant  to  spill  his  bath  water. 

After  that  we  got  down  to  business,  and  I  stood 
Joey  in  the  tub,  soaped  him  well,  soused  him  with 
the  sponge  quickly,  and  rubbed  him  with  a  coarse 
towel  until  his  small  body  was  in  a  glow.  As  I 
was  drying  his  feet,  he  said  gently : 

"I  guess  I'm  a  little  boy  yet,  ain't  I,  Mr. 
David?  I  guess  it's  a  good  thing  you  know  how 
to  take  care  of  me." 

He  rubbed  his  cheek  against  my  arm. 

"Where's  your  shirt,  boy?" 

He  pointed. 

Oh,  such  a  pitiful,  faded,  abject  blue  and 
white  rag  it  seemed,  hanging  on  the  chair  back! 
I  turned  it  this  way  and  that,  regarding  it 
dubiously. 

"Will  it  do,  Joey?" 

"Why,  yes,  sure  it'll  do.  My,  course  it'll 
do." 

I  sighed.  "We'll  have  to  get  some  new  ones 
when  you  start  to  school,  boy." 

"Well,  but  when  I  wear  the  tie  Bell  Brandon 
gave  me,  who  sees  the  shirt,"  he  said  absently. 

I  looked  around  at  him.  He  was  inspecting  a 
red,  angry  looking  mark  on  his  chest.  "Will  that 
always  be  there,  Mr.  David?"  he  asked  plain- 

239 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

lively,  touching  it.  "It  always  has  been  there. 
What  makes  it?" 

"It's  a  birth  mark,  Joey.  If  ever  you  should 
get  stolen,  and  when  I  found  you  a  bad  man 
should  say:  'He's  not  your  boy,'  I  could  answer: 
'My  boy  has  a  round  red  mark  on  his  chest.'  See 
how  fine  that  would  be." 

Joey  laughed,  and  held  out  his  arms  for  the 
shirt. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  was  arranging  the  gaily 
striped  Windsor  tie  beneath  the  turn  down  collar 
of  the  worn  shirt,  when  the  familiar  sound  of 
creaking  harness  and  whirring  wheels  reached  my 
ear.  Wanza  had  not  paid  Cedar  Dale  a  visit 
since  the  day  she  went  away  in  tearful  silence 
bearing  the  waxwing  with  her. 

When  I  opened  the  door  and  saw  her  riant 
face  my  spirits  lightened  suddenly,  and  a  spray  of 
sunshine  seemed  to  sweeten  the  dingy  kitchen  as 
she  stepped  over  the  threshold. 

"Am  I  in  time?"  she  breathed. 

"In  time?  In  time  for  what,  Wanza?"  I 
asked. 

She  dropped  a  bundle  on  to  the  table. 

"In  time  for  Joey  to  wear  one  of  these  to  Sun- 
day school?"  she  said,  portentously. 

Joey  crept  closer.  Her  eyes  as  they  turned  to 
240 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

him  were  blue  as  summer  skies  and  as  shining. 
She  snapped  the  string  that  held  the  bundle  in- 
tact. Joey  and  I  saw  an  amazing  array  of  small 
shirts — checked  shirts,  striped  shirts,  white  shirts. 

"Where — where  did  they  come  from,  Wanza?" 
stammered  Joey. 

But  I  had  guessed. 

"Well,  it's  the  first  real  present  I've  ever  made 
you,  Joey.  It  sure  won't  be  the  last!  Hustle 
into  the  cedar  room  now,  and  get  into  the  white 
one  with  the  frills — the  white  ones  are  for  Sunday 
school." 

I  could  say  nothing.  And  as  for  Joey,  he 
gathered  the  shirts  in  his  arms  and  went  away  to 
the  cedar  room  snivelling.  Wanza  and  I  were 
left  to  look  into  each  other's  faces  questioningly. 
"How  is  it  with  you,  Wanza?"  I  asked,  just  as 
she  put  the  query,  "How  do  you  get  along,  Mr. 
Dale?" 

We  both  laughed,,  and  the  awkwardness  of  the 
situation  was  relieved. 

"I  miss  you  terribly,  Wanza,"  I  confessed. 
"My  sour  dough  bread  turns  to  dust  and  ashes  in 
my  mouth." 

Her  soft  eyes  were  commiserating.  "I'll  fetch 
you  a  good  sweet  loaf  of  my  baking,  now  and 
then,"  she  volunteered  quickly. 

241 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"And  don't  drive  by  as  you  have  been  doing. 
Are  you  too  busy  to  stop  as  you  used  to  do,  girl?" 
I  asked. 

"I'm  busy,  all  right."  She  lifted  the  cover 
from  a  small  tin  pail  on  the  back  of  the  stove,  and 
sniffed  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur  at  the  yeast  it 
contained.  "That  needs  more  sugar!" 

"It  needs  doctoring,"  I  conceded  ruefully.  "I 
set  it  last  night  and  it  has  not  risen." 

"Has  Joey  been  having  his  bath  here?" 

"Yes." 

She  looked  about  her. 

"I'll  straighten  around  a  bit,  I  believe. 
Empty  that  tub,  and  open  the  windows,  Mr. 
Dale,  and  I'll  get  the  broom  and  give  the  cabin  a 
thorough  cleaning.  And  then  before  I  go  I'll 
set  some  yeast  for  you  that'll  raise  the  cover  off 
the  pail  in  no  time." 

Later  as  I  was  holding  the  dust  pan  for 
Wanza,  Joey  came  from  the  cedar  room  fresh 
and  smiling  in  the  white  shirt,  the  Windsor  tie  in 
his  hand.  Wanza  laid  aside  her  broom,  and  with 
deft  fingers  fastened  the  tie  into  a  wonderful  bow 
beneath  the  boy's  chin.  He  kissed  us  both,  and 
we  went  with  him  to  the  meadow  bars  where 
Buttons  was  tethered.  I  lifted  him  to  the  saddle 
and  stood  looking  after  him  with  a  thrill  of  pride 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

as  he  rode  away.  In  his  new  white  shirt  and 
clean  corduroy  trousers,  with  his  hair  carefully 
brushed  and  his  adorable  brown  face  aglow  and 
his  big  bright  eyes  radiant  with  happiness  he  was 
a  charming  enough  picture  of  boyhood;  and  a 
prick  of  pleasure  so  sharp  as  to  be  almost  pain 
ran  through  me  as  he  jauntily  blew  me  a  kiss, 
and  cried: 

"I  have  my  penny  for  the  cradle-roll  lady,  and 
I  have  not  forgot  my  handkerchief." 

That  night  I  dropped  asleep  in  the  Dingle  and 
again  I  dreamed  of  Wanza.  She  came  in  her 
pink  gown  and  bare  feet  as  she  had  come  before ; 
but  this  time  she  carried  loaves  of  steaming, 
sweet-smelling  bread  in  her  arms;  and  she  came 
straight  to  my  side,  saying:  "This  bread  is 
sweet  and  wholesome,  you  poor,  poor  fellow." 
It  seemed  to  me  that  she  knelt  and  fed  me  por- 
tions of  the  bread  with  pitying  fingers.  And 
never  had  morsel  tasted  more  sweet. 

As  the  days  went  by,  in  spite  of  Wanza's 
promises,  the  girl  came  but  seldom  to  Cedar 
Dale.  And  when  I  met  her  on  the  river  road 
or  in  the  village,  she  seemed  distrait  and 
strangely  shy  and  awkward,  and  vastly  uncom- 
municative, so  that  I  felt  forlorn  enough;  and  I 
was  wholly  out  of  touch  with  my  wonder  woman. 

243 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  applied  myself  feverishly  to  my  writing. 
All  day  long  I  labored  in  my  shop,  in  order  to 
earn  the  daily  bread  for  Joey  and  myself,  but 
each  night  I  wrote.  The  novel  was  almost 
finished ;  and  something  told  me  it  was  good. 

The  weeks  passed,  and  August  was  waning. 
The  foliage  was  yellowing  along  the  river  that 
crawled  like  a  golden,  sluggish  serpent  in  and 
out  among  the  brittle  rushes.  September  was 
waiting  with  lifted  paint  brush.  The  beauty  of 
the  dreamy,  ripe  hours  made  my  senses  ache. 
The  earth  seemed  to  lie  in  a  trembling  sleep, 
folded  in  fiery  foliage.  The  hills  were  plumed 
with  trees  of  flame.  At  night  the  moon's  face 
was  warm  and  red,  all  day  the  sun  burned  copper 
colored  through  a  light  blue  haze. 

There  was  something  melting  and  dreamy  in 
the  days  as  they  slipped  past — days  when  I 
found  it  hard  to  labor  in  the  shop — the  woods 
were  melodious  still  with  bird  voices,  and  all  out- 
doors called  to  me. 

I  took  a  week's  vacation  and  fished  hard  by  the 
village,  where  the  stream  threads  the  meadows; 
companioned  by  Father  O'Shan,  I  rode  along 
the  river  bank  in  the  sunset  and  tramped  the 
illumined  fields  starred  with  sumach,  and  in  the 
moonlight  during  that  week,  I  sometimes  allowed 

244 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

myself  to  drift  in  my  canoe  on  the  river,  think- 
ing, thinking,  of  Haidee — of  the  narrow  oval  of 
her  face  curtained  in  dark  hair  streams,  of  the 
shadowy  eyes  of  her,  of  her  sweet  warm  smile. 

And  then  one  day  I  made  up  my  mind  sud- 
denly to  go  to  her. 

At  the  first  glimpse  I  had  of  her  cabin,  stand- 
ing a  crude,  warped,  misshapen  thing  on  the 
slight  rise  of  ground  beneath  the  cedars,  all  my 
former  resolves  to  give  to  this  habitation  some 
slight  air  of  comfort  and  refinement  rose  up  and 
confronted  me,  and  I  saw  myself  a  weak  fellow, 
who  had  nursed  his  despair  and  disappointment 
and  failed  in  his  duty  to  the  woman  he  loved,  and 
who  in  his  cowardice  had  absented  himself  from 
his  loved  one,  when  he  might  have  brought  her 
comfort  and  neighborly  assistance. 

On  the  back  of  an  old  envelope  with  a  stub 
of  a  pencil  I  made  a  rough  sketch  of  the  improve- 
ments I  had  long  since  planned,  and  when 
Haidee  and  Wanza  came  to  the  door,  I  greeted 
them  calmly  and  showed  them  the  sketch. 
Haidee  stood  there,  without  her  crutches,  her  hair 
unbound  about  her  ivory  face.  Her  gown  was 
white,  and  a  scarf  of  rose  color  swung  from  her 
shoulders.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  long  moment 
with  eyes  dull  and  faded  as  morning  stars,  and 

245 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

then  gradually  the  old  familiar  light  came  back 
into  her  face,  her  eyes  warmed  and  grew  human. 
She  stepped  outside,  and  joined  me  on  the  porch. 

"You  have  laid  aside  your  crutches?"  I 
ventured. 

"Yes." 

"You  are  well?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  work — hard — at  various  things. 
Do  I  not,  Wanza?  I  sleep.  I  have  a  splendid 
appetite.  And  you?" 

"I  work.  I  sleep  well,  too.  I  drop  asleep  in 
the  Dingle  occasionally  after  a  hard  day's  work. 
The  Dingle  is  Wanza's  retreat — she  walks  there. 
Do  you  know  it,  Wanza?" 

She  came  to  my  side  quickly.  Her  face  dis- 
played signs  of  perturbation.  "I  walk  there! 
What  do  you  mean?  Have  you  seen  me?" 

"You  come  on  tip-toe.  It  is  hardly  walk- 
ing." 

Her  eyes  questioned  me. 

"I've  seen  you  only  a  few  times.  But  I  sus- 
pect you  come  frequently." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't,  Mr.  David  Dale." 

She  came  closer,  her  cheeks  like  crimson  roses, 
her  bright  eyes  angry,  her  lips  scornful. 

"You  come  to  visit  Joey,  I  think.  You  came 
the  first  night  after  your  departure  from  Cedar 

246 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

Dale.  And  you  went  into  the  cedar  room."  I 
smiled  into  her  troubled  face. 

"And  what  did  I  do  there?" 

"You  took  the  magpie's  cage  from  its  hook. 
You  carried  it  away  with  you.  But  you  were 
like  a  little  trade  rat — you  left  the  cedar  wax- 
wing  for  Joey  and  me." 

But  just  here  Wanza  flung  me  an  odd  look 
and  ran  into  the  house,  saying  over  her  shoulder : 
"That  was  a  funny,  funny  dream." 

Haidee  favored  me  with  a  rather  intent  look, 
and  dropped  her  gaze  to  the  envelope  in  her  hand. 
We  walked  around  the  cabin,  and  I  explained 
how  I  planned  to  build  a  small  rustic  pergola  with 
a  trellis  for  wild  honeysuckle  at  the  back  door  to 
serve  as  a  breakfast  room  next  summer,  and  tim- 
idly at  last,  I  told  her  that  I  wished  that  I  might 
cover  the  rough  walls  of  her  sleeping  room  with 
cedar  strips  and  build  a  pergola  outside  the  door 
like  the  one  I  had  built  at  Cedar  Dale  for  Joey. 

"We'll  plant  some  woodbine  roots  this  fall,  and 
set  out  a  crimson  rambler.  We  may  as  well  have 
the  place  blooming  like  an  Eden,"  I  said. 

"And  the  wilderness  shall  blossom  like  the 
rose,"  murmured  Haidee.  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Fix- 
ing Man." 

I  rode  home  happier  than  I  had  been  in  many 
247 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

a  long  day.  When  I  told  Joey  of  the  proposed 
improvements  at  Hidden  Lake  he  shouted  with 
glee,  and  a  few  moments  later  I  heard  him  tooting 
on  his  neglected  flute  that  had  lain  strangely  mute 
since  the  day  when  Haidee  had  sung  "Bell  Bran- 
don" to  its  accompaniment,  and  we  had  seen  the 
smile  die  from  her  curling  lips  and  the  light  of 
joy  go  out  in  her  sparkling  eyes. 

After  this  my  days  were  trances.  Through 
the  glowing  flame-like  hours  I  worked  to  trans- 
form the  sordid  little  cabin  into  a  fitting  habita- 
tion for  my  wonder  woman.  Together  we 
planned  the  rustic  porch  at  the  rear  of  the  kitchen, 
and  when  the  foundation  was  laid  I  dug  up  wild 
honeysuckle  roots  and  we  planted  them  with  a 
lavish  hand,  bending  shoulder  to  shoulder  above 
the  sweet,  moist  earth,  our  hands  meeting,  Hai- 
dee's  breath  on  my  face,  her  unsteady  laughter  in 
my  ear,  the  charm  of  her  rare,  compelling  per- 
sonality stirring  my  senses  to  ecstasy. 

I  labored  each  day  till  the  sun  was  well  down 
behind  Nigger  Head ;  and  then  came  a  half  hour 
of  blissful  idleness  on  the  front  porch  with 
Haidee  behind  a  tea  tray  facing  me,  Wanza  hand- 
ing around  cheese  cakes  and  sandwiches,  and 
master  Joey  sitting  on  a  three-legged  stool,  the 
picture  of  smug,  well-fed  complacency. 

248 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

Wanza's  conduct  puzzled  me  sorely  during 
these  days.  At  times  she  jested  with  me  in  her 
old  bright  rollicking  way,  but  oftener  her  mood 
was  fitful,  and  she  was  hot-tempered,  difficult  and 
distrait. 

One  evening  I  rode  to  the  village  with  her  in 
her  cart  on  a  special  errand  for  Haidee.  It  was 
a  mellow,  moonlight  evening.  The  air  was  ripe 
with  a  frosted  sweetness,  a  tang  that  only  autumn 
evenings  hold.  I  was  in  boisterous  spirits;  and 
as  Wanza  drove  I  relapsed  into  my  old  way  of 
alternately  bantering  and  teasing  and  flattering 
my  companion. 

"When  you  no  longer  line  your  umbrella  with 
pink,  Wanza,"  I  said,  "I  will  know  that  vanity 
and  you  have  parted  company." 

The  blonde  head  turned  restlessly. 

"I  ain't  half  as  vain  as  I  used  to  be." 

"Oh,  that's  bad,  Wanza — very  bad!     A  pretty 

girl  is  naturally  vain.     And  as  for  the  pink  lining 

—it's  as  natural  for  a  fair,  pale  girl  like  you  to 

line  her  umbrella  with  pink  as  it  is  for  a  fruit 

dealer  to  stretch  pink  gauze  over  his  sallow  fruit." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Wanza  de- 
manded fiercely.  She  dropped  the  lines.  "Now, 
what  do  you  mean  by  that,  I  say?" 

"Dear  Wanza,"  I  said,  soothingly,  "I  don't 
249 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

mean  anything — except  that  pink  lends  a  pretty 
glow  to  an  alabaster  skin  like  yours." 

Her  eyes  gleamed  at  me  savagely  in  the  moon- 
light, and  she  made  a  strange  sound  in  her  throat 
that  sounded  like  a  sob. 

"I  don't  understand,"  I  continued,  "why 
you're  so  sensitive,  of  late.  Why,  it's  so  hard  to 
talk  to  you!  You're  so  difficult  I  feel  like 
putting  on  a  mental  dress-suit  and  kid  gloves 
when  I  converse  with  you.  What's  come  over 
you,  Wanza?" 

"Nothing's  come  over  me.  It's  you,"  she  an- 
swered in  a  low  tone. 

"Oh,  no,"  I  responded,  "Wanza  girl,  I  treat 
you  just  the  same  as  I  ever  did,  my  dear!" 

"But  you  don't  treat  me  the  same  as  you  do 
her — you  don't  treat  me  just  the  same — "  her 
voice  sounded  husky.  She  turned  her  head 
away. 

What  could  I  reply? 

I  ventured  finally:  "I  don't  know  exactly 
what  you  mean,  child !  But  I  hope  I  show  by  my 
manner  to  you  how  very  much  you  count  in  my 
life, — how  dear  you  are  to  Joey  and  me — how 
fine  and  staunch  a  friend  we  have  ever  found 
you — I  hope  I  show  this,  Wanza.  If  I  do  not 
I  am  sorry  indeed." 

250 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

There  was  a  slight  movement  towards  me 
on  the  girl's  part.  Her  hand  crept  out  shyly 
and  touched  mine.  I  heard  her  whisper  chok- 
ingly: 

"If  I  mean  a  good  deal  to  you  and  Joey  I 
sure  ought  to  be  satisfied.  It  oughtn't  to  mat- 
ter— really  matter — if  you  smile  different  when 
you  speak  to  her." 

I  took  her  hand.  I  was  moved.  Again  I 
marveled  that  Wanza  had  the  power  to  shake  me 
so.  "You  have  your  own  place,  child,"  I  said. 
And  when  she  questioned,  "But  what  is  my  place, 
Mr.  Dale?"  I  asked  myself  what  indeed  was  her 
place.  "I  shall  tell  you  some  time,"  I  answered, 
which  was  not  at  all  the  remark  I  desired  to 
make,  and  I  spoke  in  palpable  confusion. 

After  a  short  interval  she  took  her  hand  from 
mine,  and  gathered  up  the  lines,  not  looking  at 
me  as  she  said :  "Mr.  Batterly  is  back  in  Rose- 
lake." 

I  caught  her  by  the  shoulder.  I  drew  her 
quickly  to  me  till  I  could  see  her  face  in  the  moon- 
light. 

"When  did  he  come  back?"  I  asked,  thickly. 

She  tugged  at  my  restraining  hand  and 
shrugged  away  from  me.  "He's  been  back  two 
weeks,  I  calculate — may  be  more." 

251 


"Don't  speak  to  him,  Wanza — don't  look  at 
him!"  I  implored  quickly. 

She  faced  me  proudly  at  this.  "Do  you  think 
I  would,"  she  cried  scornfully,  "except  to 
answer  him  when  he  speaks  to  me  on  the  road?" 

"I  did  not  know,  Wanza,"  I  murmured 
humbly. 

"Did  not  know!  It's  little  you  know  me  any 
way,  David  Dale,  I  am  thinking.  If  you  know 
me  so  little  as  not  to  know  that,  why  should  I 
care  indeed  how  you  treat  me,  or  what  my  place 
is  with  you?  Why  should  I  care ?  Sometimes  I 
think,  David  Dale,  I  think  that  I  hate  you.  I'm 
thinking  it  now.  Yes,  yes,  yes!" 

"Please,  please,  Wanza — " 

"Stop!  I  will  ask  a  few  questions,  myself .  I 
will  put  them  to  you,  although  I  never — in 
loyalty  to  you — put  them  to  myself.  But  it  is 
not  for  you  to  tell  me  how  to  behave — how  to 
walk  so  and  so — say  and  do  so  and  so!  This  is 
the  question  I  will  put:  Is  it  right  for  you  to 
spend  each  and  every  day  at  Hidden  Lake?  Is 
it  ?  Answer  that  to  yourself — not  to  me — before 
you  tell  me  not  even  to  speak  civilly  to  Mrs. 
Batterly's  husband.  I  don't  want  to  speak  to 
him!  I  don't  want  him  to  speak  to  me!  No, 

252 


"THANK  YOU,  MR.  FIXING  MAN" 

nor  look  at  me.  Can  you  say  as  much  for  her, 
David  Dale?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  I  stammered, 
taken  by  surprise. 

"You  don't  have  to  say  nothing — not  to  me. 
I'm  not  your  judge.  But  answer  the  questions 
to  yourself,  quick,  before  you  tell  me  what  to 
do  and  what  not,  again!  Go  on,  Rosebud, 
you're  a-getting  to  be  slower  and  slower!" 

I  glanced  at  her  face.  It  was  pale,  and  her 
lips  were  unsteady. 

About  this  time  Joey  began  to  take  sudden 
trips  down  the  river  in  the  flat-bottomed  swift- 
water  boat,  poling  away  industriously  each 
morning  with  a  fine  show  of  mystery — uncon- 
sciously admonishing  me  to  appear  indifferent 
and  uninterested.  I  carried  my  apathy  too  far, 
I  imagine,  for  one  day  he  said  to  me : 

"Mr.  David,  do  you  mind  the  old  hollow 
stump  in  the  willows  on  the  river  bank — where 
the  flycatcher's  left  a  funny  big  nest?" 

I  answered  yes.  I  had  marked  it  well.  The 
secret  water-way  which  led  to  Hidden  Lake  was 
close  by. 

"Well,"  Joey  continued,  looking  very  im- 
portant, and  puffing  out  his  chest  like  a  pouter 

253 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

pigeon,  "Bell  Brandon  and  me  have  a  post-office 
there.  She  leaves  the  most  things  for  me  there 
under  the  flycatcher's  nest  in  a  box — cut-out 
pictures,  and  cookies,  and  fludge." 

"Fudge,  Joey  boy." 

"Yes — fludge.  And  say,  Mr.  David — any 
time  you're  passing,  look  in,  won't  you?  'Cause 
there  might  be  something  there  would  spoil." 


254 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BEREFT 

I  HAD  not  heard  from  Janet  Jones  again 
and  I  was  beginning  to  think  that  I  might 
never  have  another  letter  from  her  when  a 
missive  came. 

Thank  you  for  my  cedar  chest  (she  wrote).  It 
reached  me  safely,  but  I  have  been  ill  in  body  and  mind 
and  unable  to  write  sooner.  Oh,  the  joy  my  bit  of 
cedar  wood  is  to  me.  When  I  look  at  it,  I  am  trans- 
ported at  once  to  the  heart  of  the  clean  woods.  And 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  vision  the  tree  hosts  in  their  tawny 
brown,  like  Khaki-clad  soldiers  marshalling  at  the 
trumpet  call  of  the  rushing  September  winds.  What 
a  sparkle  and  spirited  flavor  there  is  in  the  wine-like 
air.  How  the  leaves  swirl  in  the  paths  like  gilded  cups, 
and  winnow  through  the  air  like  painted  galleons,  and 
rustle  and  unroll  beneath  the  tread,  like  cloth  of  gold. 
Oh,  I  love  the  summer.  But  the  fall  with  its  shining 
sumptuous  days — its  melancholy  grandeur  surpasses 
it.  Only — the  birds  are  gone — are  they  not?  And 
the  dear  clever  nests — "half-way  houses  on  the  road  to 
Heaven" — sway  tenantless.  While  the  wood  aisles 
seem  hushed  and  solemn,  I  know,  like  vast  cathedral 
spaces  after  the  organ  has  ceased  to  reverberate. 

255 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  read  this  letter  with  delight,  and  I  wrote  and 
thanked  Janet  Jones  as  cordially  as  I  knew  how 
for  the  pleasure  it  had  given  me.  I  began  to 
look  forward  to  her  next  missive,  and  I  was  be- 
ginning to  experience  no  small  satisfaction  from 
our  peculiar,  unconventional  friendship,  when  a 
strange  thing  happened. 

Joey  and  I  were  tearing  out  the  straw  from 
his  mattress  one  day,  intent  on  our  usual  fall 
house-cleaning,  when  my  fingers  closed  over  a 
bit  of  cardboard.  I  drew  it  forth,  unrolled  it, 
and  smoothed  it  in  my  hand.  It  was  the  small 
square  visiting  card  that  had  been  attached  to  the 
parcel  that  Haidee  had  placed  in  my  saddle-bag 
for  Joey,  on  the  day  that  now  seemed  so  long 
ago,  when  I  had  gone  to  fell  the  trees  at  Hidden 
Lake  and  had  ridden  so  ungallantly  away. 

Joey  sprang  at  me  and  seized  my  wrist. 
"That's  mine!  That's  mine!"  he  shouted. 
"Give  it  here,  Mr.  David — please." 

But  I  was  staring  at  the  writing  on  the  back 
of  the  card.  "For  the  boy  who  goes  to  Sunday 
school,"  Haidee  had  written  in  strong,  clear  char- 
acters. Surely,  the  hand  that  had  penned  that 
line  had  more  recently  penned  other  lines  to  me 
and  beneath  them  signed  the  name  of  Janet 
Jones. 

256 


BEREFT 

I  had  a  letter  in  my  pocket,  and  later  I  com- 
pared the  writing  on  the  envelope  with  that  on 
Joey's  card.  And  I  smiled  to  myself;  but 
wonderingly.  Still  a  doubt  assailed  me.  I  grew 
wary.  And  fate  favored  me.  When  Wanza 
stopped  her  cart  at  the  meadow  bars  en  route  to 
Roselake  one  day,  to  pick  up  Joey,  I  saddled 
Buttons  and  rode  to  the  village  in  their  wake. 
At  the  post-office  I  swung  out  of  my  saddle. 

"Give  me  your  letters,  Wanza,"  I  suggested. 
"Don't  get  down.  I'll  post  them." 

Once  inside  the  office  I  ran  the  letters  through 
my  fingers.  There  were  two  letters  addressed  to 
Miss  Janet  Jones,  Spokane,  Washington,  and 
the  writing  was  that  with  which  I  had  grown 
familiar  in  Janet  Jones'  letters  to  me. 

I  was  completely  mystified.  I  rode  home  in  a 
brown  study.  And  then  suddenly  I  reached  a 
solution.  That  night  I  wrote  a  letter.  I  took 
great  pains  with  its  construction.  And  after 
Joey  was  in  bed  I  paddled  away  down  the  river 
in  the  light  of  the  moon  to  the  hollow  stump 
among  the  willows  on  the  bank.  I  placed  my 
letter  to  Haidee  within  the  recess  on  a  soft  bed 
of  ferns  and  dried  grass  that  I  found  there;  and 
then  I  paddled  stealthily  home. 

I  kept  an  even  face  when  I  greeted  Haidee  the 
257 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

following  day,  and  she  did  not  betray  by  word 
or  glance  that  she  had  received  a  communication 
from  me.  But  as  I  opened  my  lunch  pail  that 
night  to  give  Joey  some  doughnuts  that  Wanza 
had  sent  him,  there  on  top  was  a  small  white 
envelope  addressed  to  me. 

I  read  the  letter  after  Joey  was  in  bed  and  I 
had  built  up  a  fire  of  pine  cones  on  the  hearth. 
It  was  a  characteristic  Janet  Jones  letter : 

Dear  Mr.  Craftsman: 

Once  upon  a  time — which  is  the  way  I  begin  my 
fairy  tales  to  Joey — there  was  a  certain  foolish 
woman,  whom  we  will  call  Haidee,  who  lived  all  alone 
in  the  heart  of  a  forest.  She  was  a  very  headstrong 
young  woman,  full  of  whims  and  insane  impulses,  or 
she  never  would  have  gone  into  the  forest  to  live  alone. 
But  she  loved  Nature  passionately  and  she  had  suffered 
and  known  heartache — and  she  felt  that  Nurse  Nature 
could  assuage  pain. 

A  big-hearted  woodsman  lived  near-by  in  this  same 
forest.  He  swung  his  ax,  and  befriended  her.  He 
labored  in  the  hot  sun  felling  trees  that  the  headstrong 
woman  might  be  safe  in  her  flimsy  shack.  But  the 
woman  taunted  him,  and  when  he  would  have  felled 
every  tree  that  endangered  her  habitation  she  stayed 
his  hand.  Then,  one  day,  retribution  overtook  her. 
A  tree  fell,  and  she  was  hewn  down  in  her  conceit  and 
foolhardiness.  She  was  taken  to  the  woodsman's  cabin 
by  the  kind-hearted  woodsman  who  rescued  her.  There 

258 


BEREFT 

she  was  cared  for  tenderly,  and  the  coals  of  fire  burned 
her  poor  silly  head — so  much  so  that,  knowing  she  was 
a  burden  and  an  expense  to  the  woodsman,  who,  like 
most  big-hearted  honest  woodsmen,  was  desperately 
poor,  she  lay  awake  nights  planning  how  best  to 
recompense  him  without  wounding  his  proud  spirit. 
At  last,  she  thought  of  a  plan.  And  with  the  conniv- 
ance of  a  dear  old-time  friend  in  Spokane,  carried  it 
out.  Her  friend  gave  her  permission  to  sign  her  name 
to  the  letters  she  wrote  the  woodsman.  After  the 
letters  were  written,  they  were  sent  to  the  original 
Janet  Jones,  who  forthwith  mailed  them  to  the  woods- 
man at  Roselake.  Janet  Jones  also,  naturally,  re- 
ceived the  letters  which  the  woodsman  wrote,  and  in  due 
time  they  were  put  into  envelopes  and  addressed  to  the 
headstrong  woman,  whom  they  did  not  fail  to  reach. 
The  cedar  chest  was  the  headstrong  woman's  gift  to 
Janet  Jones,  who  is  an  invalid,  and  a  romanticist  who 
enjoys  beyond  all  words  any  departure  from  the  com- 
monplace. 

Am  I  forgiven,  Mr.  Fixing-Man  ?  And  now,  one 
word  more.  You  will  not  receive  another  letter  from 
Janet  Jones.  And — I  pray  you,  come  not  too  often  to 
Hidden  Lake — it  is  better  so. 

This  was  the  missive  which  I  read  in  the  fire- 
light. As  I  finished  I  suddenly  felt  bereft. 
And  I  lay  back  in  my  chair  and  stared  into  the 
coals  with  unseeing  eyes,  brooding  miserably, 
groping  in  a  misty  sea  of  doubt  and  unrest  and 
feeble  desire.  Then  Joey  called  me  in  his  sleep. 

259 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Just  as  I  was  sinking  utterly,  I  heard,  "Mr. 
David,  Mr.  David,"  and  the  cry  of  appeal  braced 
me,  strengthened  the  man  in  me.  I  went  in  to 
him  as  a  sinner  into  a  sanctuary,  and  the  kiss  he 
gave  me  sleepily  was  a  salve  that  solaced  and 
sustained  me  throughout  the  trying  night. 

I  had  finished  the  improvements  on  Haidee's 
cabin  at  this  time ;  so  I  gave  over  going  to  Hidden 
Lake  in  prompt  obedience  to  the  request  my 
wonder  woman  had  made  in  her  letter.  But  I 
wrote  an  answer  to  the  letter  and  placed  it  in  the 
old  stump.  I  assured  her  that  I  would  respect 
her  wishes,  and  I  begged  her  to  let  me  know  the 
instant  I  could  serve  her  in  any  way,  promising 
her  that  never  a  day  should  pass  without  my 
going  to  the  secret  post-office. 

I  had  advertised  my  cedar  chests  in  the  maga- 
zines during  the  summer,  and  orders  began  to 
pour  in,  so  that  I  was  kept  busy  in  my  workshop. 
Those  were  busy  days  in  the  house  as  well,  for, 
with  the  beginning  of  September,  Joey  had 
started  to  school  at  Roselake,  and  many  of  the 
small  duties  he  had  taken  upon  his  young 
shoulders  devolved  upon  me. 

Oh,  the  day  on  which  Joey  started  to  school! 

I  dressed  him  carefully  that  morning,  with  all 
the  trepidation  of  an  over-fond  parent,  and  I  ad- 

260 


BEREFT 

monished  him  concerning  his  demeanor  in  the 
school-room  until  I  am  sure  his  small  head  must 
have  been  in  a  whirl,  and  his  little  heart  in  a 
flutter  of  apprehension. 

"I'll  do  my  best,  Mr.  David,  dear,"  he  said 
bravely.  "You  said  yourself  they  can't  no  one 
do  more."  He  hesitated  and  looked  at  me,  red- 
dening painfully.  "And  if  the  teacher  asks  me 
who  am  I — and  who's — who's  my  father — what 
am  I  to  tell  her?" 

My  hand  closed  on  his  shoulder  fiercely. 
"Tell  her  you  are  Mr.  Dale's  boy,  from  Cedar 
Dale — tell  her  your  name  is  Joey  Dale,"  I  cried. 
The  look  on  his  face  had  stabbed  me. 

He  considered,  looking  into  my  eyes  awesomely 
as  I  took  his  chin  in  my  hand. 

"If  I  have  the  Dale  part,  couldn't  I  have  the 
David,  too?"  he  suggested.  "Hm!  Then  we'd 
be  big  David  and  little  David." 

"David  Dale,  the  second,"  I  said,  poking  him 
in  the  ribs. 

"But  there  couldn't  be  any  David  Dale,  the 
second.  There  couldn't  never  be  but  one  real 
David  Dale.  But  there  could  be  a  little  David." 

A  little  David! 

That  was  a  dragging  day.  I  missed  the  lad 
which  ever  way  I  turned.  And  his  words  to  me, 

261 


when  he  leaped  to  my  arms  from  old  Buttons' 
back  that  night!  "It  was  fine!  I  liked  it,  really 
and  truly.  But,  oh,  Mr.  David,  I  'most  knew 
you  was  lonely  and  missing  me !" 

Every  morning  I  walked  to  the  edge  of  the 
meadow,  let  down  the  bars  for  old  Buttons,  and 
watched  Joey  ride  away,  his  sturdy  little  figure 
jouncing  up  and  down  in  the  saddle,  his  brave, 
bright  face  turned  back  to  me  over  his  shoulder, 
with  rare  affection  beaming  from  big  big  brown 
eyes,  as  he  waved  and  waved  to  me  until  a  bend 
of  the  road  hid  him  from  my  sight. 

One  memorable  morning  in  the  latter  part  of 
September,  as  I  was  tightening  the  saddle  girths, 
he  bent  down  to  me,  and  as  I  lifted  my  head  he 
surprised  me  with  a  quick  shame-faced  salute  of 
moist  lips  on  my  forehead. 

"You're  a  good  Mr.  David,"  he  said  patroniz- 
ingly. "And  I  ain't  yours  either — not  blood 
kin." 

I  hugged  the  little  lad  to  me — a  sudden  fierce 
warmth  of  affection  stirring  my  sluggish  halting 
heart  that  had  grown  weary  lately  of  life's  com- 
plexities. 

"You're  my  boy,  just  the  same,"  I  assured 
him. 

"They  can't  anybody  get  me  away  from  you — 
262 


BEREFT 

can  they?"  he  asked  anxiously,  and  I  saw  genuine 
consternation  in  his  eyes. 

I  laughed  and  hugged  him  tighter.  "I  guess 
not,"  I  bragged.  "Let  them  try.  Jingles  would 
eat  them  up." 

"And  we'd  hide,  wouldn't  we?" 

"We  surely  would." 

"And — and  we'd  shoot  at  them  from  the 
rushes." 

I  know  not  why  Joey's  words  should  have  irked 
me,  but  the  day  seemed  long,  and  I  was  glad  when 
I  heard  the  soft  thud  of  Buttons'  hoofs  on  the 
turf  outside  the  cabin  promptly  at  the  accustomed 
hour.  I  was  building  the  kitchen  fire,  but  I 
straightened  up,  stepped  to  the  door,  and  threw  it 
wide. 

Buttons  stood  with  his  bridle  over  his  head,  his 
nose  sniffing  the  ground,  but  no  Joey  sprang 
from  the  saddle  into  my  eager  arms.  The  horse 
was  riderless. 

All  Roselake  joined  in  the  search  for  Joey, 
after  I  had  ascertained  that  the  lad  was  not  with 
Haidee,  and  the  search  was  prolonged  far  into 
the  night.  The  school-master  had  seen  Joey  ride 
away  at  the  close  of  school,  and  I  argued  that 
Buttons  must  have  come  straight  home.  At 
dawn  the  search  was  resumed.  For  miles  in  each 

263 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

direction  the  searching  party  spread  out,  but  at 
night,  totally  disheartened,  the  kindly  neighbors 
disbanded,  and  Joey's  case  was  left  in  the  hands 
of  the  police. 


264 


CHAPTER  XX 

"PERHAPS  i  SHALL  GO  AWAY" 

ALONE  the  next  day  I  took  up  the  search 
for  Joey,  beating  back  and  forth  be- 
tween Roselake  and  Cedar  Dale,  and 
penetrating  to  Wallace  and  Wardner.  It  was  to 
Wanza  that  I  spoke  my  conviction  at  last,  sitting 
my  cayuse  on  the  river  road,  while  she  sat  stiff 
and  tearful-eyed  in  her  cart,  pale  even  beneath 
the  pink-lined  umbrella. 

"It  looks  to  me,  Wanza  girl,"  I  said  wearily, 
"like  a  plain  case  of  kidnapping." 

"But  who  would  kidnap  him,  Mr.  Dale?" 
Wanza  queried  pitifully. 

"Why — that's  the  question,"  I  returned. 
"Have  you  ever  seen  him  talking  to  any  one — 
any  stranger — when  you  have  met  him  going  and 
returning  from  school?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Once,"  she  replied, 
"Joey  was  with  me,  and  Mr.  Batterly  stopped  us. 
He  asked  me  all  about  Joey — seeming  so  keen! 
And  I  told  him — thinking  it  no  harm — just  how 

265 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

a  dying  woman  gave  him  to  you,  saying  he  was  a 
waif  that  had  been  picked  up  after  a  storm  over 
on  the  Sound  by  her  dead  brother,  who  had  been 
a  fisherman." 

"Where  is  Batterly  now,"  I  asked. 

"Gone  away — this  week  past." 

"Oh,  well,"  I  sighed,  "we'll  acquit  him.  I'm 
sure  he  was  not  over  fond  of  Joey."  After  a 
pause  I  asked  brusquely :  "Where  has  he  gone  ?" 

"I  don't  know — sure  I  don't,  Mr.  Dale.  The 
last  I  heard  of  him  he  was  going  to  hire  a  swift- 
water  boat  and  a  poler,  and  try  the  swift-water 
fishing  above  St.  Joe." 

"Then  he  hasn't  left  the  country,"  I  said. 
And  my  heart  sank  leaden  and  my  hate  of  the 
man  boiled  up  in  my  veins  fiercely,  as  I  pictured 
him  still  skulking  about,  a  menace  to  Haidee's 
peace  of  mind. 

The  time  went  very  heavily  past.  All  my  days 
and  many  nights  were  spent  in  the  saddle,  and 
the  evenings  that  I  passed  at  Cedar  Dale  were 
consumed  in  feverish  plans  for  the  scoutings  that 
I  made.  I  did  not  even  now  attempt  to  visit 
Haidee  at  Hidden  Lake;  but  one  morning,  at 
sunrise,  hearing  a  soft  tap  on  my  door,  I  opened 
to  see  Wanza  standing  there  with  a  covered 
basket  on  her  arm. 

266 


"PERHAPS  I  SHALL  GO  AWAY" 

"I  saw  your  light  last  night,"  she  quavered. 
"I  have  brought  you  some  good  nourishing  food. 
I  can  see  you're  not  cooking  for  yourself. 
You're  growing  white  and  thin." 

Her  womanly  act  in  coming  thus  to  offer 
me  comfort  stirred  me  strangely,  appealed  to 
the  finest  fibre  in  my  nature.  Her  simplicity, 
her  self-forgetfulness  made  me  falter  at  her 
feet. 

But  at  last  I  gave  over  my  scout  ings.  I  made 
a  cedar  chest  for  Joey's  room,  and  in  this  I  placed 
all  his  little  kickshaws,  his  few  clothes,  and  his 
flute,  along  with  the  gay  Indian  blanket  he  had 
reveled  in,  and  the  quilt  Wanza  had  pieced  for 
him.  The  room  thus  became  to  me  a  sort  of 
shrine.  And  finding  me  here  at  the  close  of  a 
long  day  with  tears  of  which  I  was  not  ashamed 
in  my  eyes,  Wanza  broke  down  and  sobbed  be- 
side me. 

"I'd  like  to  kill  whoever  it  is  as  has  taken 
Joey  away,"  she  cried,  brandishing  a  resentful 
fist. 

"If  we  knew  any  one  had  taken  him,"  I  said, 
thoughtfully.  "Sometimes  I  think — I  think, 
Wanza,  that  Joey  is  dead." 

"I  don't  think  so!  No,  indeed!"  Wanza  re- 
turned with  thrilling  earnestness.  "Oh,  I  feel 

267 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

sure  he  ain't  dead!  He'll  be  found — some  day. 
He  sure  will,  Mr.  Dale." 

She  helped  me  by  her  sturdy  optimism. 

Soon  after  this  Wanza  and  I  fell  into  the  habit 
of  tramping  through  the  gleaming  golden  woods 
together  almost  daily,  breathing  the  crisp  sweet 
autumn  air.  Wanza  in  her  bright  sweater,  with 
her  tawny  hair,  and  the  carmine  in  her  cheek 
flitted  in  and  out  of  the  wood  paths  like  a  forest 
dryad,  exclaiming  at  every  frost-touched  leaf,  and 
reveling  in  the  painted  glory  about  us. 

"But  the  birds  are  gone,"  she  said,  a  tear  in  her 
tones,  as  we  looked  into  an  empty  king-bird's  nest 
one  day.  "I  love  the  king-birds — they're  sleek 
dandies — that's  what  they  are!  Oh,  Mr.  Dale, 
what  a  heartache  an  empty  nest  gives  me!  The 
dear  little  birds  are  gone — " 

"And  Joey  is  not  here,"  I  ended  sadly. 

After  awhile  I  went  on:  "Yes,  summer  has 
gone.  It  is  the  most  evanescent  time  of  the  year. 
It  slips  and  slips  away — and  just  as  you  grasp  it 
and  thrill  to  its  sweetness  it  melts  into — this — as 
happiness  merges  into  sorrow." 

Her  face  quivered,  and  her  eyes  came  to 
mine.  "I  guess  that  is  so,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

Looking  in  Wanza's  face  lately  I  always 
268 


"PERHAPS  I  SHALL  GO  AWAY" 

turned  away.  I  did  so  now.  The  look  of  ques- 
tioning I  found  there — the  mute  appeal — the 
suffering — these  unmanned  me.  But  it  grew  to 
be  a  strange  satisfaction  to  be  with  her,  through 
long  crisp  daylight  hours,  in  the  hush  of  pink 
sunsets,  in  the  gilded  autumn  twilights,  while  we 
rested  after  a  meagre  supper  cooked  over  a  camp 
fire,  chatting  desultorily,  and  watching  the  big 
pale  stars  came  out  to  lie  like  white-tipped  mar- 
guerites on  the  purple  bosom  of  the  sky  above 
our  heads. 

One  day  I  spoke  my  thought. 

"I  am  thinking,  Wanza — perhaps  I  shall  go 
away." 

We  were  in  the  heart  of  the  woods.  A 
tinkling,  sly  little  brook  made  the  forest  musical, 
the  rustle  and  purr  of  the  pines  sounded  about  us 
like  fluty  organ  notes.  Wanza's  eyes  were  lifted 
to  the  sprightly  shivering  leaves  of  a  cottonwood, 
and  her  face  was  very  still.  She  did  not  move  as 
I  spoke,  and  I  repeated  my  sentence. 

"I  thought  you'd  go,"  she  said.  She  spoke 
harshly. 

"I  can't  stop  on  here  without  Joey.  I  can't 
bear  it,"  I  said,  haltingly. 

"But  I've  got  to  stay  on  without  either  of  you 
— and  bear  it." 

269 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  saw  her  eyes.  I  recoiled  at  the  depth  of  pain 
revealed. 

"Mr.  Dale,"  she  said  gropingly,  after  a  pause, 
"where  are  you  going?" 

"I  don't  know,  Wanza.  But  inaction  is  in- 
tolerable. I  must  be  doing  something.  I  must 
get  away  for  awhile,  at  least.  It  is  better." 

Wanza's  eyes  were  very  bright.  Her  hands 
that  were  smoothing  a  maple  leaf  were  trembling. 
Her  voice  sounded  dry  and  hard  as  she  asked : 

"When  do  you  reckon  you'll  go?" 

"Why,  child,  I  do  not  know!  Each  day  I  say 
to  myself  I  cannot  bear  another." 

"It'll  be  the  same  wherever  you  are." 

"Perhaps  so,  Wanza,"  I  sighed.  And  then  be- 
cause I  knew  the  tears  were  on  her  cheeks,  I 
sprang  to  my  feet,  saying:  "This  may  be  our 
last  day  in  the  woods  together,  who  knows? 
Come,  let  us  try  to  forget — let  us  make  the  best 
of  what  we  have." 

Wanza  rose.  She  came  close  to  me.  When 
our  eyes  met  she  gave  a  cry:  "If  you  go  you 
may  never  come  back!" 

"Never  fear.  I  have  no  home  but  Cedar 
Dale,"  I  replied,  and  I  am  afraid  my  voice  was 
bitter.  And  when  she  put  her  hand  on  my  arm 
I  shook  it  off  and  would  have  strode  away,  but 

270 


"PERHAPS  I  SHALL  GO  AWAY" 

again  as  in  the  woods  on  the  occasion  of  our 
gipsying  I  saw  her  face  close  to  my  own,  and 
caught  my  breath  in  marvel.  No,  there  was 
never  such  a  girl-face!  Such  an  elf -face!  I 
stooped  suddenly  and  framed  the  face  with  my 
hands.  What  were  her  wonderful  eyes  saying, 
back  of  all  the  tears,  all  the  mystery?  Why — 
when  I  was  in  love  with  Haidee — did  they  draw 
me  like  a  lodestar?  Why  now  and  then  did  she 
stir  me  in  this  strange  fashion  till  I  gazed  and 
gazed,  and  needs  must  curb  my  will  to  keep  from 
taking  her  in  my  arms  and  crushing  her  against 
my  heart? 

I  had  never  faced  the  question.  I  did  not  care 
to  face  it  now.  I  put  it  away  for  some  future 
time,  feeling  vaguely  that  it  remained  to  be 
reckoned  with. 

"I  have  no  home  but  Cedar  Dale,"  I  repeated. 

"And  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  whispered. 

She  pressed  nearer  to  me,  and  I  released  her 
face,  and  drew  her  slowly  within  the  circle  of  my 
arms.  But  when  I  held  her  so,  when  the  floating 
hair  meshes  were  just  beneath  my  chin,  and  her 
face  brushed  my  sleeve,  I  steadied  myself. 

"Wanza,"  I  said,  "I  am  almost  glad,  too,  that 
I  have  no  other  home.  When  I  think  of  the  good 
friends  I  have  here — you  and  your  father  and 

271 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Father  O'Shan — I  realize  that  I  am  ungrateful 
to  despise  my  humble  place  among  you.  Keep  it 
for  me,  little  girl,  and  I  shall  come  back.  Yes, 
I  shall  come  back  better  equipped  for  the  future 
among  you.  If  it  must  be  without  Joey — "  I 
hesitated  and  bit  my  lip — "without  Joey,"  I  con- 
tinued more  firmly,  "I  shall  at  least  try  to  earn 
your  respect  by  holding  up  my  head,  and  forging 
on  to  some  goal.  I  shall  attain  to  something  at 
last,  I  hope.  And  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  serve 
my  neighbors  in  many  ways,  and  make  myself 
needed  in  the  community." 

I  held  her  for  a  moment  after  saying  this,  and 
then  I  bent  down  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  kissed  her.  But  it  was  on  the  brow  that  I 
kissed  her.  And  I  am  sure  no  brother  could  have 
saluted  her  more  respectfully. 

She  drew  back.  Her  head  fell  against  my 
shoulder.  I  saw  deep  into  her  splendid  eyes, — 
deep,  deep.  Back  of  all  the  tears  and  the  smiles 
and  the  mystery  I  read  at  last  what  they  were 
saying.  I  read — and  I  was  humbled  and 
abashed.  I  knew  the  truth  at  last.  Wanza 
loved  me. 

I  saw  clearly  now,  indeed.  I  recalled  Father 
O'Shan  words:  "Be  careful  in  your  dealings 
with  that  child."  I  had  been  blind,  and  a  fool. 

272 


"PERHAPS  I  SHALL  GO  AWAY" 

I  blamed  myself,  and  I  hated  myself.  I  stood 
stupidly  staring  into  the  face  so  near  my  own 
until  with  a  sudden  wrench  Wanza  jerked  away 
from  me,  and  ran  on  down  the  purpling  wood- 
aisle  before  me,  dashing  the  tears  from  her  eyes 
as  she  fled. 

I  walked  home  slowly,   astounded  and  per- 
plexed by  the  revelation  I  had  had. 


273 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

THAT  night  in  my  lonely  cabin  I  fell  ill, 
and  burned  with  fever,  and  shook  with 
ague  so  that  I  was  unable  to  drag  myself 
about  the  cabin,  but  lay  all  the  next  day  and  the 
next  in  my  bunk.     The  following  day  my  fever' 
left  me  magically;  and  late  in  the  afternoon  I 
arose,  fed  and  curried  my  half -starved  cayuse 
and,  mounting,  rode  away  beneath  the  berry- 
reddened  yews  to  the  trail  that  led  to  Haidee. 

I  dismounted  at  the  rustic  pergola  at  the  rear 
of  the  cabin,  tethered  my  cayuse  and  walked 
around  to  the  front  door.  The  door  was  closed, 
and  a  silence  that  was  almost  oppressive  brooded 
over  the  place.  I  ran  up  the  steps,  and  a  curious 
premonition  that  Haidee  had  gone  away  sickened 
me  as  I  rapped  on  the  panel.  Terrified  at  re- 
ceiving no  response,  I  turned  the  handle,  pressed 
forward,  and  caught  at  the  casement  for  sup- 
port in  my  weakness.  I  peered  in,  and  at  the 
sight  I  saw  my  knees  all  but  gave  way  so  that  I 

274 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

swung  about  like  a  loose  sail  in  a  sudden  breeze. 

On  the  floor  lay  Randall  Batter ly  in  a  ghastly 
pool  of  blood.  His  face  was  upturned  to  the  cold 
October  sunlight.  His  lips  were  opened  in  a 
half  snarl,  his  full  lids  were  wide  apart  over  his 
rolled  back,  terrible  eyes.  He  was  bleeding  from 
a  wound  in  his  chest.  And  Haidee  stood  above 
him,  gazing  down  upon  him,  gray  horror  painted 
on  her  face. 

She  heard  my  step  and  turned,  and  I  caught 
the  metallic  thud  as  the  revolver  she  had  been 
holding  dropped  to  the  bare  floor.  She  stared  at 
me,  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  thrust  me  back.  I 
saw  fear  in  her  face. 

"It  is  you!     It  is  you!"  she  breathed. 

She  continued  to  stare  at  me  with  big  gaunt 
eyes. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  trying  to  keep  the  horror  out 
of  my  tones.  "It  is  I." 

She  shuddered  and  collapsed  to  her  knees, 
clinging  to  the  door  frame  as  a  drowning  man 
clutches  and  grips  a  bulwark.  The  pupils  of  her 
eyes  were  dilated  with  terror  and  despair  until 
the  purple  iris  was  eclipsed,  and  they  stared  black 
and  empty  as  burnt-out  worlds. 

"He  is  dead — dead,"  she  whispered.  "He 
can't  speak,  or  move." 

275 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  picked  up  the  revolver  and  laid  it  on  the  table, 
and  then  I  crossed  to  the  rigid  form  on  the  floor. 
I  knelt  and  pressed  my  ear  to  his  heart.  I  lifted 
his  hand;  it  fell  back  inertly.  Yes,  it  was  true. 
Randall  Batterly  was  gone  past  recall,  facing  the 
great  tribunal  above,  with  who  knew  what  black 
secret  in  his  heart. 

"We  must  get  a  physician,"  I  murmured 
dully. 

Haidee  crept  to  my  side.  Her  poor  face  was 
blanched  and  twisted  till  she  looked  like  a  half- 
dead  thing. 

"Who  could  have  done  this — "  I  stammered,  in 
a  voice  that  sounded  driveling  and  uncertain  in 
my  own  ears. 

Again  that  dumb  look  of  distress  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  stood  as  if  carved  in  granite. 

"My  dear — my  dear,  you  must  come  away— 
this  is  too  much  for  you,"  I  continued  hoarsely. 
I  took  her  poor  cold  hands  in  mine.  And  then  I 
turned  and  faced  the  door  with  a  curious  certainty 
that  some  one  was  looking  at  me,  and  I  saw  old 
Lundquist's  rat  eyes  peering  in  on  us  from  the 
doorway. 

He  said  not  one  word — only  stared  and  stared 
at  the  dead  man  on  the  floor,  and  at  the  abject 
living  creatures  standing  over  him;  and  then  he 

276 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

crept  away  like  a  sliding  shadow,  and  the  sunlight 
brightened  the  place  again.  But  in  that  grim 
room  Haidee  had  fallen  face  downward,  stark 
and  stiff,  and  her  wild  scream  as  she  sank  echoed 
and  re-echoed  in  my  ears  for  days. 

I  brought  water,  I  bathed  her  face,  I  chafed 
her  hands;  but  the  moments  passed  and  she  did 
not  revive,  and  twilight  fell,  as  alone,  in  the 
presence  of  death  I  wrestled  with  the  stupor  that 
held  her.  And  there  they  found  me — the  sheriff 
and  old  Lundquist. 

"For  God's  sake,  lend  a  hand  here,"  I  cried 
imploringly.  And  then  I  stood  up.  "Gentle- 
men," I  said,  "this — dead  man  is  Mrs.  Batterly's 
husband.  I  believe  this  to  be  a  suicide — I  found 
him  lying  just  as  you  see  him  a  short  while  ago. 
Mrs.  Batterly  had  just  discovered  him,  I  believe. 
She  is — as  you  see — in  no  condition  to  be  ques- 
tioned." 

The  sheriff  hesitated.  I  had  known  the  man 
for  years,  and  I  saw  a  swift  scepticism  darken  his 
keen  eyes  as  they  searched  my  face.  He  glanced 
at  Haidee  and  then  at  the  revolver  lying  on  the 
table.  He  reached  over,  picked  up  the  weapon 
and  examined  it. 

"This  revolver  is  loaded  in  only  four  of  its 
chambers.  The  fifth  has  a  discharged  cartridge. 

277 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Was  this  lying  on  the  table  when  you  came  in, 
Dale?" 

I  spoke  hoarsely.  "I  put  it  there.  It  had 
fallen  to  the  floor." 

Old  Lundquist  crawled  closer.  "That  ban 
Mrs.  Batterly's  revolver,"  he  mumbled,  "I  see  her 
have  it — it  ban  on  the  table  most  o'  the  time. 
Thar  be  a  letter  on  it — to  mark  it  like." 

The  sheriff's  finger  traced  the  outline  of  the 
shining  letter  on  the  polished  surface  of  the 
weapon.  He  stood  irresolutely,  ruminating. 

"Come!"  I  ordered  brusquely.  "This  lady 
must  be  seen  to."  And  as  neither  man  made  a 
move  to  assist  me,  I  lifted  Haidee  in  my  arms. 
I  felt  her  stir.  Her  eyes  opened  suddenly.  She 
looked  at  old  Lundquist  and  the  sheriff,  then  up 
at  me  affrightedly.  Her  hand  clutched  my  arm. 
She  cowered,  and  a  tremor  shook  her  from  head 
to  foot. 

"These  men — why  are  they  here?"  she  asked 
faintly. 

"Gentlemen — "  I  was  beginning,  when  the 
sheriff  stopped  me. 

"Mrs.  Batterly,"  he  said,  clearing  his  throat, 
and  speaking  raspingly,  "this  is  your  revolver?" 

"Why,  yes — "  Haidee  drew  in  her  breath 
sharply — "why,  yes,"  she  admitted. 

278 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

I  felt  her  hand  tighten  its  hold  on  my  arm. 

"It  is  mine,  surely,"  she  continued,  as  no  one 
spoke.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  appeal- 
ingly.  "I  am  fond  of  shooting  at  a  mark.  I 
used  it  only  this  noon.  I  left  it  on  the  table  after 
lunch  when  I  went  into  the  woods  to  sketch.  I 
heard  a  shot  fired  soon  after  I  left — but  I  thought 
nothing  of  it — rabbit  hunters  pass  the  cabin  daily. 
When  I  came  back  to  the  cabin  after  a  time  I — I 
found  my — husband  on  the  floor,  as  you  see 
him — "  She  halted,  something  in  the  eyes  she 
saw  fixed  upon  her  caused  her  face  to  whiten. 
"Why,"  she  stammered — "why — you  don't  think 
—think  I—" 

"Mrs.  Batter ly,"  the  sheriff  broke  in  quickly, 
"I  arrest  you  for  the  murder  of  your  husband, 
Randall  Batterly." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  groping  look  she  turned 
on  me ;  the  dumb  appeal  that  struck  to  the  center 
of  my  heart  and  set  it  quivering — the  question  in 
the  big  deep  eyes,  clear  and  pure  as  a  rillet  in  the 
sun. 

I  don't  know  how  I  gave  her  into  the  sheriff's 
custody.  I  recall  that  my  fists  were  doubled  and 
that  I  mouthed  useless  imprecations,  and  that  old 
Lundquist  strove  to  reason  with  me,  his  lank  arms 
wrapped  about  me  restrainingly,  as  the  sheriff 

279 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

bore  Haidee  away  in  his  gig.  I  recall  climbing 
into  my  saddle  and  riding  away,  the  echo  of 
Haidee's  parting  injunction  in  my  ears:  "Find 
Wanza  for  me,  please.  She  may  be  able  to  help 
me." 

And  I  recall  that  old  Lundquist  stood  shaking 
his  fist  after  me  in  the  pergola. 

Little  I  cared  for  old  Lundquist  or  the  pum- 
meling  I  gave  him.  I  dug  my  heels  into  Buttons' 
sides.  His  hoofs  fell  with  soft  thuds  on  the  fallen 
leaves  that,  imbedded  in  the  damp  soil,  made  a 
brown  mosaic  of  my  path.  The  bracing  air  was 
in  my  face,  but  I  rode  limp  and  flaccid,  with  cold 
beads  of  sweat  upon  my  brow.  "Oh,  God,"  I 
groaned,  "Oh,  God!  Oh,  God!"  But  I  could 
not  pray.  I  only  raised  my  eyes.  Overhead  the 
afterglow  shot  the  sky  with  rose  and  silver,  and 
an  apricot  moon  was  rising  over  the  mountains 
hooded  in  white  mist.  I  kept  my  eyes  lifted  as  I 
rode  on  through  the  soft  dusk  to  Roselake  in  quest 
of  Wanza. 

But  Wanza  was  not  at  her  father's  house. 
When  questioned  Captain  Grif  said  she  had  not 
been  home  since  noon.  He  had  supposed  she 
was  with  Mrs.  Batterly  at  Hidden  Lake.  I  left 
a  note  for  the  girl  to  be  given  her  as  soon  as  she 
came  in,  saying  nothing  to  old  Grif  of  the  tragedy 

280 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

at  Hidden  Lake,  and  then,  thoroughly  dis- 
heartened, I  took  the  road  for  Cedar  Dale. 

I  made  short  work  of  reaching  home.  I  put 
Buttons  into  a  gallop,  and  rode  like  Tarn  o' 
Shanter  through  the  night,  whipped  on  by  the 
witches  of  adversity.  I  reached  the  meadow.  I 
rode  through  the  stubble.  The  unlighted  cabin 
seemed  to  exhale  an  almost  inexorable  malevo- 
lency  as  I  came  upon  it.  It  greeted  me — empty 
and  pitiless.  Even  my  cupboard  was  bare. 

Toward  midnight,  unable  to  breathe  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  cabin,  racked  with  despair,  and  agog 
with  restlessness,  I  stole  out,  clumsy  footed,  to  the 
willows  on  the  river  bank.  Here  I  found  my 
canoe.  I  slid  it  into  the  water,  stepped  in  and 
paddled  away,  seeking  surcease  from  my 
thoughts  beneath  the  tent  of  night. 

The  friendly  current  bore  me  on.  Soon  I 
came  opposite  the  old  cottonwood  stump,  gleam- 
ing white  among  the  shadows.  I  laid  aside  my 
paddle  and  drifted  along  close  to  the  high  willow- 
bordered  banks,  the  cold,  clear  stars  above  me. 
The  silence  and  the  motion  of  the  canoe  were 
soporific.  I  was  weak  and  worn  from  my  recent 
illness.  My  head  kept  nodding.  I  closed  my 
eyes.  After  a  time  I  slept. 

The  hoot-hoot  of  an  owl  awakened  me.  I 
281 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

raised  my  head  and  looked  about  me.  The  dark- 
ness had  deepened.  The  stars  had  a  redder  glow 
and  the  mountains  stood  up  like  invincible  agate 
gates  against  the  black  sky,  shutting  in  this  little 
bit  of  the  great  world.  The  night  air  was  cold. 
I  shivered  and  jerked  my  arms  mightily  to  induce 
circulation.  And  then  hunger  assailed  me  and 
I  began  to  think  of  food. 

I  took  my  paddle  and  swung  my  canoe  about. 
Suddenly,  as  one  remembers  a  feast  when  hard 
pressed  for  sustenance,  I  recalled  the  doughnuts 
and  goodies  that  Haidee  had  been  wont  to  place 
in  the  hollow  stump  for  Joey.  Well,  I  knew  the 
cache  was  empty  now. 

I  reached  the  stump.  I  thrust  my  hand  grop- 
ingly within  the  recess,  smiling  whimsically  at  my 
fatuous  impulse.  My  fingers  encountered  a 
small  object,  smooth  and  heavy  to  the  touch.  I 
drew  it  forth.  It  was  a  six-chambered  revolver, 
loaded  in  five  of  its  chambers.  The  sixth 
chamber  contained  a  discharged  cartridge. 

A  tremor  ran  over  me.  Slow  horror  chilled 
my  veins.  I  sickened  SLS  my  fingers  passed  over 
the  cold  polished  surface,  recalling  the  livid  face 
of  the  dead  man  in  the  cabin.  Mechanically,  at 
last,  I  slipped  the  weapon  into  my  pocket  and 
took  up  the  paddle. 

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FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

I  slept  no  more  that  night.  The  next  morn- 
ing with  an  attorney  I  visited  Haidee  in  her  cell 
in  the  village  jail.  My  poor  friend  was  stricken. 
Her  pallor  was  marked,  and  her  great  soft  eyes 
held  the  pitiful  appeal  of  a  hunted  deer.  She 
told  the  attorney  her  story  straight.  A  tear 
rolled  down  her  cheek,  and  she  faced  me  with  the 
question,  barely  voiced: 

"You  believe  in  my  innocence?" 

And  I,  shaken  and  undone,  could  only  cry: 
"Believe  in  you?  Oh,  my  child — do  I  believe  in 
myself?  I  know  you  are  innocent." 

I  produced  the  revolver  I  had  found  in  the 
hollow  stump,  and  the  attorney  pounced  on  it 
eagerly.  'Here  is  the  evidence,  indeed,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully.  "I  think  we  shall  prove  that  the 
bullet  that  killed  Randall  Batterly  was  fired  from 
this  very  weapon.  Mrs.  Batterly 's  revolver  is  of 
a  different  caliber." 

As  I  left  the  jail  I  met  Captain  Grif.  He 
plucked  at  my  sleeve.  His  face  worked. 
"Wanza  ain't  come  home  yet,  Mr.  Dale,"  he 
quavered. 

I  was  startled.     "That  is  strange,"  I  said. 

"She's  always  stayed  to  Hidden  Lake  nights. 
I  warn't  surprised  when  she  didn't  s-show  up  last 
night  thinkin'  she'd  gone  peddlin'  in  the  after- 

283 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

noon,  and  then  gone  on  to  Hidden  Lake  about 
the  time  you  was  askin'  for  her,  may  be.  But  I 
jest  heard  about  Mrs.  Batterly  bein'  arrested 
yesterday."  His  voice  broke.  "For  God's  sake, 
Mr.  Dale,  w- where  can  Wanza  be?" 

"Where  can  she  be?"  I  echoed  to  myself. 

Two  days  passed.  Wanza  did  not  return. 
To  find  her  became  my  chief  object  in  life,  but  all 
my  inquiries  were  fruitless.  And  then  on  the 
third  day,  Captain  Grif  came  to  Cedar  Dale. 

"I  been  thinkin'  that  Wanza  may  be  with 
Sister  Veronica  at  the  old  Mission  near  De 
Smet,"  he  quavered,  tears  standing  in  his  poor 
dim  eyes. 

"Have  you  seen  Father  O'Shan?"  I  asked 
quickly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Not  for  days,  Mr.  Dale, 
for  God's  sake  f-find  my  gal!  F-find  her,  my 
boy,  find  her!  The  Mission's  the  place  to  look 
for  her.  Why,  when  Wanza  was  a  little  girl,  and 
we  1-lived  at  Blue  Lake,  she  used  to  run  to  Sister 
Veronica  with  everything,  jest  l-like  a  child  to 
its  mother." 

Acting  on  this  information  I  set  out  post-haste 
that  very  morning  for  the  old  Mission.  The 
stage  had  passed  an  hour  before,  Buttons  had 
fallen  lame,  but  I  was  in  a  desperate  mood  and 

284 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

would  brook  no  delay.  The  current  was  with 
me,  and  I  slid  down  the  river  seven  miles  and 
made  a  portage  to  Blue  Lake  before  noon.  A 
creek  flows  into  Blue  Lake,  and  I  followed  the 
creek  to  its  head.  It  was  well  past  the  noon  hour 
by  then,  and  I  secreted  my  craft  in  a  tangle  of 
birches  and  struck  across  country  on  foot.  I  had 
a  map  in  my  pocket  and  a  compass,  and  I  went 
forward  hopefully. 

The  old  Mission  stands  on  an  elevation  over- 
looking a  pastoral  valley.  Gray  and  solitary  it 
looms,  a  gilded  cross  shining  on  its  blue  dome. 
But  the  way  to  it,  unless  one  follows  the  main 
traveled  road,  I  found  to  be  as  hard  as  the  narrow 
path  that  leads  to  righteousness.  Ever  and  anon 
I  glimpsed  the  gilded  cross  between  the  pine  tops, 
but  I  floundered  on  through  thickets,  waded 
streams,  and  beat  about  in  bosky  jungles,  without 
striking  the  road  I  sought. 

Toward  evening  when  I  lifted  my  eyes,  the 
shining  cross  had  eluded  me.  It  had  comforted 
me  to  have  it  set  like  a  sign  against  the  sky.  But 
I  kept  on  doggedly.  The  thoughts  that  went 
with  me  were  long,  hard  thoughts.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  through  all  my  unfortunate  life  I  had 
been  faring  on  to  meet  this  final  javelin  of  fate — 
to  have  the  woman  I  adored  held  in  the  leash  of 

285 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

the  law — to  realize  my  helplessness — to  suffer  a 
thousand  deaths  a  day  in  my  impotency — this  was 
the  denouement  prepared  for  me — awaiting  me 
— when,  as  a  lad  of  twenty-four,  I  had  accepted 
the  stigma  of  a  crime  of  which  I  was  not  guilty 
and  hidden  away  as  a  guilty  man  may  hide! 
The  only  green  oasis  in  the  arid  waste  of  my  life 
had  been  Joey,  and  suddenly  my  heart  cried  out 
for  the  lad  who  had  been  my  solace  and  delight. 
I  dropped  down  on  a  log,  and  lay  supine  through 
long  moments.  I  thought  of  Wanza  and  hoped 
and  prayed  I  might  find  her.  Haidee's  face 
came  before  me  with  its  look  of  pure  white  cour- 
age. I  opened  the  book  of  my  life  still  wider 
and  turned  to  earlier  pages.  I  grew  bitter  and 
morose.  But,  gradually,  as  I  lay  there,  the  sear- 
ing hurts  and  perplexities  and  injustices  sank 
back  into  the  hush  of  my  soul's  twilight,  and  I 
tore  out  the  blurred  pages  and  treasured  only  the 
white  ones  on  which  the  names  of  Joey  and 
Wanza  and  Haidee  were  written.  Hope  stirred 
in  my  heart. 

It  was  sunset  when  I  roused  at  last,  crawled 
to  a  nearby  stream  that  came  slipping  along  with 
endless  song,  and  drank  thirstily,  and  laved  my 
face.  As  I  knelt,  I  saw  what  seemed  to  be  a  de- 
serted cabin,  half  hidden  among  scrub  pines  in  the 

286 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

draw  below  me.  I  hailed  it,  stumbled  down  the 
overgrown  trail,  and  approached  it. 

The  door  was  closed,  the  solitary  window 
boarded  over.  I  tried  the  door,  found  it  fast, 
and  rattled  it  tentatively.  A  voice  cried: 
"Who  is  there?" 

My  heart  gave  a  violent  leap. 

I  pressed  against  the  door,  and  swallowed  hard 
before  I  could  control  my  tones. 

"It  is  a — a  man  who  is  in  need  of  food  and 
shelter,"  I  answered. 

"It  is  Mr.  David!  Mr.  David!"  the  voice 
shrieked.  And  such  a  lusty  shout  arose  that  the 
rafters  of  the  old  shack  fairly  trembled. 

As  for  me  I  leaned  in  dazed  suspense  against 
the  door,  impatiently  waiting  for  my  lad  to  open 
to  me. 

"Mr.  David — dear,  dear  Mr.  David — I  can't 
open  the  door!  He's  taken  the  key."  I  heard 
then. 

"Who  has  taken  the  key,  Joey?" 

"The  big  man.  He  locked  me  in.  Mr.  David 
— can't  you  get  me  out?" 

I  placed  my  shoulder  against  the  door.  With 
all  my  strength  I  gave  heave  after  heave  until 
the  rotten  old  boards  gave  way.  They  splintered 
into  fragments,  and  through  the  jagged  opening 

287 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

crept  Joey,  my  lad — to  throw  himself  into  my 
arms  and  cling  and  cling  about  my  neck,  biting 
his  lips  to  keep  the  tears  from  falling.  But  my 
tears  wet  the  boyish  head  I  pressed  against  my 
breast.  I  sank  to  my  knees  and  gathered  him 
into  my  arms,  and  rocked  back  and  forth,  croon- 
ing over  him,  womanishly: 

"Joey — Joey!     Little  lad — dear  little  lad!" 

Soon  after  I  lay  in  the  bunk  in  the  interior  of 
the  one-room  shack  and  Joey  cooked  a  substantial 
meal  for  me ;  and  when  it  was  ready,  I  ate  raven- 
ously while  he  hung  over  me,  his  hand  stealing  up 
to  close  about  my  hand  from  time  to  time. 

When  I  had  finished  I  dropped  back  into  the 
bunk.  "Now  then,  lad,"  I  said. 

And  Joey  began  his  tale  by  asking:  "Mr. 
David,  am  I  the  big  man's  boy?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Joey?" 

"He  says  I'm  his  boy.  He  says  I  was  lost  in 
a  shipwreck — when  I  was  a  teenty  baby." 

I  covered  my  face  with  my  hand.  "Go  on,"  I 
bade  him,  hoarsely. 

"One  day  he  saw  the  mark  on  my  chest.  I'd 
been  fightin'  at  school,  Mr.  David — and  coming 
home  I  was  crying  and  sorry,  and  Wanza,  she 
came  along,  in  her  cart,  and  she  washed  my  face 
and  neck  and  tidied  me.  The  big  man  came  up 

288 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

— and  said:  'Good  day,  young  man?'  And 
when  he  saw  the  funny  red  mark  on  my  chest  he 
asked  Wanza,  'Who  is  this  boy?'  And  Wanza, 
she  told  him  how  you  took  me  just  a  three  year 
old  when  a  woman  a  few  miles  down  river  died, 
and  how  the  woman  got  me  over  on  the  Sound  of 
her  brother  who  was  a  fisherman  and  had  picked 
me  up  on  the  beach  one  time  after  a  storm.  The 
big  man  kept  asking  questions  and  questions,  and 
Wanza  told  him  the  woman's  brother  was  dead, 
too.  And,  at  last,  Wanza  got  tired  of  talking 
and  she  just  said:  'Good  day,  Mr.  Batterly,'  and 
told  me  to  get  in  the  cart,  and  we  drove  off." 

Joey  paused  and  his  soft  eyes  flashed.  I  was 
too  greatly  overcome  to  make  any  comment,  and 
I  lay  back,  feeling  that  my  world  was  crashing 
in  chaos  about  my  head.  After  awhile  the  lad 
continued : 

"That  day  when  he — he  stole  me,  Mr.  David, 
I  was  coming  home  from  school  along  the  river 
road.  He  stopped  me  and  he  said  he  was  my 
father  and  I  must  go  with  him.  'Get  off  your 
horse,'  he  said.  I  got  off  Buttons,  but  I  said: 
'No,  I'll  not  go  with  you.  I'll  ask  Mr.  David, 
first !'  The  big  man  laughed  and  said  you'd  find 
out  soon  enough.  I  kicked  and  kicked,  Mr. 
David,  when  he  grabbed  me  by  the  arm.  And 

289 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

then  another  big  man  came  out  of  the  bushes,  and 
they  tied  up  my  mouth  and  they  carried  me  to  a 
boat  and  locked  me  up  in  a  funny  little  cup- 
board. By  and  by  I  went  to  sleep.  Then  one 
morning  I  woke  up  and  I  was  here.  I  heard  the 
big  man  say  to  the  other  man:  'I've  got  him, 
Bill.  My  wif  e'll  have  to  come  to  terms  now.' ' 

Again  Joey  paused,  and  I  writhed  and  was 
silent.  Joey  looked  at  me  commiseratingly  and 
went  on: 

'  'Most  a  week  ago  he  told  me  he  was  going  to 
fetch  Bell  Brandon.  'You  be  a  good  boy,'  he 
said,  'and  I'll  bring  her.'  And  he  went  away; 
but  he  locked  the  door,  'cause  he  said  he  couldn't 
trust  me.  I  'most  knew  you'd  come,  Mr.  David  I 
The  minute  you  knocked  I  knew  you'd  come  for 
me.  And  I'm  going  away  with  you — and  you'll 
punish  the  big  man,  won't  you?  And  I'm  not  his 
boy,  am  I,  Mr.  David?" 

"If  you  are  his  boy,"  I  said  huskily,  "you  be- 
long to  Bell  Brandon,  too."  And  with  my  words 
a  terrible  blinding  despair  swept  over  me.  I  was 
too  steeped  in  lassitude  and  despondency  to 
reason,  too  greatly  fatigued  to  wonder.  I  closed 
my  eyes  and  turned  my  face  to  the  wall. 

After  awhile  a  blanket  was  drawn  carefully 
over  me.  I  felt  a  warm  breath  on  my  face.  My 

290 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

eyes  opened  straight  into  Joey's,  and  I  reached 
out  and  took  his  hand  in  mine.  "Joey,"  I 
whispered,  seeing  shining  drops  on  his  cheeks, 
"Joey,  I'm  in  trouble.  I  must  think,  lad!  The 
big  man  won't  be  back,  lad — he'll  not  return  at 
all — I  know  that — you  will  never  see  him  again. 
But  after  awhile  you  and  Bell  Brandon  will  be 
very  happy  together — after  awhile." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  David?  Ain't  I 
going  to  live  at  Cedar  Dale  again,  with  you,  and 
Jingles  and  Buttons,  same  as  ever?  Oh,  ain't  I, 
Mr.  David?"  my  little  lad  cried  out,  and  his  tears 
feU  fast. 

I  slept  that  night  with  Joey  at  my  side  in  the 
narrow  bunk,  and  I  awoke  at  intervals,  and  stared 
out  through  the  glimmering  casement  at  the 
moon-silvered  trees.  Weary  as  I  was,  my  cogita- 
tions kept  me  from  repose.  I  promised  myself 
that  I  would  push  on  to  the  Mission  in  the  morn- 
ing. Joey  should  go  with  me,  and  the  stage 
should  bear  us  back  to  Roselake,  although  this 
would  necessitate  a  delay.  I  moved,  and  Joey's 
hand  fluttered  out  toward  me  in  his  sleep.  He 
whispered  my  name. 

I  slept  again,  waking  to  see  the  curtain  at  the 
window  I  had  opened,  pushed  aside,  and  a  face 
peering  in  at  me  in  the  cold  gray  light  of  morning. 

291 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

It  was  withdrawn  and  a  hand  fell  on  the  door.  I 
looked  down  at  Joey's  tousled  head  pillowed  on 
my  arm.  Laying  him  gently  down  on  the  pillow, 
I  arose  and  took  my  revolver  from  my  pocket. 

"What  do  you  want?"  I  demanded,  throwing 
open  the  door. 

The  man  standing  there  put  out  his  hand 
quickly.  It  was  Father  O'Shan. 

"You  have  come  from  the  Mission?"  I  gasped. 

"Yes." 

"Can  you  give  me  news  of  Wanza,  then?  Is 
she  at  the  Mission?" 

He  took  the  revolver  from  my  grasp,  looked 
at  me  curiously,  and  placed  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

"Yesterday,  when  I  passed  here,  I  thought  I 
heard  a  child  sobbing.  I  was  too  greatly  over- 
wrought at  the  time  to  attach  importance  to  it. 
In  the  night  I  recalled  the  boarded  over  window 
and  I  could  not  rest.  I  came  to  investigate." 

He  hesitated.  I  waited,  and  he  came  a  step 
closer. 

"David  Dale,"  he  said,  with  evident  reluctance, 
"Wanza  Lyttle  has  confessed  to  being  implicated 
in  the  murder  of  Randall  Batterly.  I  took  her 
to  Roselake  myself  yesterday.  She  has  given 

292 


FATE'S  FINAL  JAVELIN 

herself  up.  Mrs.  Batterly  was  set  at  liberty  a 
few  hours  later." 

I  reeled,  and  sat  down  weakly  on  the  steps. 
"Not  Wanza!  Not  Wanza!"  I  kept  repeating 
over  and  over. 

Something  gripped  me  by  the  throat,  tears  in 
my  eyes  smarted  them.  I  clasped  my  head  with 
my  arms,  hiding  my  face.  I  felt  drowning  in 
deep  currents.  That  brave  girl — insouciant, 
cheery,  helpful  Wanza!  What  had  she  to  do 
with  the  murder  of  Randall  Batterly? 


293 


CHAPTER  XXII 

RENUNCIATION 

JOEY  and  I  slept  that  night  at  Cedar  Dale, 
and  the  next  morning  as  early  as  might  be 
I  obtained  permission  to  visit  Wanza  in 
the  village  jail.  We  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
for  a  beating  moment,  and  then  I  had  her  hands 
in  mine  and  was  whispering,  "Courage,  courage, 
Wanza." 

The  color  surged  into  her  white  cheeks,  and  her 
eyes  blazed. 

"Do  you  think  I  did  it,  David  Dale?"  she  whis- 
pered painfully. 

"Wanza — child — what  sort  of  confession  have 
you  made?" 

"I  told  them  I  was  the  only  one  who  knew  any- 
thing about  it.  I  told  them  it  was  a  shot  from  my 
revolver  that  killed  Mr.  Batterly.  They  showed 
me  the  revolver  Mrs.  Batterly's  attorney  had, 
that  you  found  in  the  hollow  stump,  and  I  swore 
it  was  mine.  And  so  they  put  me  in  here  to  wait 
for  a  trial.  But  they  let  her  go.  It  was  on  her 

294 


RENUNCIATION 

account  that  I  told  what  I  did.  I  never  said  I 
killed  him — never!" 

"My  poor,  poor,  girl!" 

"Hush!  Please  don't!  Don't  say  a  word! 
Oh,  I  don't  want  to  break  down — I  been  through 
a  lot — a  lot !  I'll  tell  you  all  now — all,  Mr.  Dale ! 
It  was  like  this.  That  day  at  Hidden  Lake  Ran- 
dall Batterly  found  me  there  alone.  He  was 
drunk — very  drunk.  I  had  just  come  in  and  I 
thought  Mrs.  Batterly  had  gone  to  Roselake  as 
she  had  intended.  I  told  him  so  when  he  asked 
for  her.  And — when  he  thought  there  was  no 
one  about  he  began  saying  all  sorts  of  silly  things. 
Truly,  Mr.  Dale,  I  had  never  spoken  to  him  but 
just  three  times  in  the  village — just  to  be  civil. 
But  he  said  some  downright  disgusting  things 
that  day,  and  he  put  his  arms  around  me,  and  he 
held  me  tight,  and  he — he  kissed  me  twice — oh,  so 
fierce  like!  though  I  struck  him  hard.  I  got 
frightened.  I  saw  he  was  so  drunk  he  could 
scarcely  stand.  Mrs.  Batter ly's  revolver  was  ly- 
ing on  the  table.  I  motioned  to  it.  'Don't  touch 
me  again,  Mr.  Batterly,'  I  screamed,  'or  I'll  shoot 
myself.'  I  think  I  was  almost  out  of  my  head 
with  fright.  I  turned  to  run  from  the  room  when 
he  caught  my  arm.  I  had  my  own  revolver  in  the 
pocket  of  my  sweater  coat,  and  I  pulled  it  out 

295 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

quick  as  a  flash.  'Come,'  he  said,  looking  ugly, 
'give  me  that  revolver !  Give  it  here !  Don't  be 
a  fool.'  We  had  a  scuffle  and  he  had  just 
wrenched  the  revolver  away  from  me,  when,  oh, 
Mr.  Dale,  it  slipped  from  his  hands  and  struck  the 
floor  hard,  and  went  off.  He  had  been  grinning 
at  me  because  he  had  got  the  revolver  in  his  own 
hands,  and  he  stood  there  still  grinning  for  a  sec- 
ond— oh,  an  awful  second — and  then  he  just 
crumpled  up  and  dropped  on  the  floor  at  my  feet, 
dead,  dead,  dead!" 

It  was  impossible  for  Wanza  to  go  on  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two.  And  when  she  continued,  at  length, 
after  a  paroxysm  of  sobbing,  my  arm  was  around 
her,  and  her  poor  drooping  head  was  against  my 
shoulder. 

"When  I  saw  that  he  was  dead,  Mr.  Dale,  I 
picked  up  my  revolver,  and  I  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could  out  of  the  cabin  and  hid  in  the  underbrush 
by  the  lake.  By  and  by  I  spied  Mrs.  Batterly's 
canoe,  and  I  got  in  and  paddled  away  as  fast  as  I 
could.  I  remembered  the  hollow  stump,  because 
I'd  gone  there  for  Mrs.  Batterly  with  fudge  for 
Joey;  and  when  I  saw  it  I  just  popped  the  revol- 
ver inside.  Then  I  hid  the  canoe  among  the  wil- 
lows and  started  to  walk  to  Roselake.  I  kept  to 
the  woods  along  the  river  road  until  I  heard  the 

296 


RENUNCIATION 

stage  coming,  and  then  I  thought  'I'll  go  to  Sister 
Veronica  at  the  Old  Mission.'  And  I  ran  out 
and  hailed  it,  and  got  in.  When  the  stage  got  to 
De  Smet  that  evening  a  man  got  in,  and  I  heard 
him  tell  the  driver  that  Mrs.  Batterly  had  been  ar- 
rested for  the  murder  of  her  husband.  So  then 
I  knew  I  had  to  tell  the  truth  and  take  the  blame 
or  they'd  keep  her  in  jail  and  drag  her  through 
an  awful  trial,  and  I  knew  what  that  would  mean 
to  you,  Mr.  Dale." 

I  pressed  her  head  closer  against  my  shoulder. 
"Wanza,"  I  said,  "you  are  a  noble  girl." 

The  tears  welled  up  in  the  corn-flower  blue 
eyes. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dale,  you  do  believe  that  Mr.  Bat- 
terly was  most  respectful  to  me  whenever  I  met 
him  in  the  village!  He  was  very  polite  and  re- 
spectful. I  never  spoke  to  him  but  three  times. 
Once  dad  was  with  me,  and  once  Joey,  and  once  I 
was  alone." 

There  was  something  piteous  in  her  assevera- 
tion. 

"I  am  sure  he  was  respectful,  child." 

"I  wanted  to  die  the  minute  he  spoke  too  bold 
to  me  when  he  found  me  there  alone  at  Hidden 
Lake." 

"I  well  know  that,  Wanza." 
297 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Marna  of  the  quick  disdain, 
Starting  at  the  dream  of  stain !" 

I  cleared  my  throat  and  spoke  as  hopefully  as 
I  could.  "Let  us  forget  as  well  as  we  can,  little 
girl.  Let  us  look  forward  to  your  release.  You 
will  tell  the  truth  at  the  trial,  and  you  will  be  be- 
lieved. And  then — you  will  forget — you  will 
start  all  over  again !  You  must  let  me  help  you, 
Wanza,  in  many  ways.  I  have  a  piece  of  good 
news  for  you  even  now.  I  have  found  Joey." 

But  I  did  not  tell  her  Joey's  story,  until  my 
next  visit. 

I  learned  from  Haidee's  attorney  that  Randall 
Batter ly  had  been  buried  in  Roselake  cemetery, 
and  that  Mrs.  Olds  had  been  sent  for  and  was 
staying  with  Haidee.  That  afternoon  Buttons 
carried  a  double  burden  over  the  trail  to  Hidden 
Lake.  I  went  in  alone  to  Haidee,  leaving  Joey 
in  the  woods.  My  heart  was  too  overcharged  for 
free  speech,  but  I  told  Haidee  that  I  had  found 
Joey  in  an  abandoned  cabin  and  I  told  her  all  that 
Wanza  had  told  me  of  the  part  she  had  played 
in  the  accidental  shooting  of  Randall  Batter  ly, 
and  later  I  said  to  her : 

"I  have  something  strange  to  communicate  to 
you.  But  first,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  if  you  will 

298 


RENUNCIATION 

tell  me  the  story  of  your  life  after  you  became 
Randall  Batterly's  wife." 

Haidee  lifted  her  head  at  my  request  and 
straightened  her  shoulders  with  an  indrawn  spas- 
modic breath.  "I  have  always  intended  to  tell 
you  my  story,  some  day,"  she  answered.  Lines 
of  pain  etched  themselves  upon  her  brow. 

"I  think  if  you  will  tell  me  you  will  not  regret 
it,"  I  replied. 

"I  have  always  intended  to  tell  you,"  she  re- 
peated. Her  voice  shook  but  she  lifted  brave 
eyes  to  mine,  and  began  her  story. 

"I  married  Randall  Batterly  eight  years  ago, 
when  I  was  eighteen,  soon  after  my  father  died. 
He  took  me  to  Alaska,  and — and  Baby  was  born 
there.  When  my  little  one  was  two  years  old,  I 
had  a  very  severe  attack  of  pneumonia.  While  I 
was  still  ill  Mr.  Batterly  was  obliged  to  make  a 
trip  to  Seattle,  and  it  was  decided  that  Baby  was 
to  go  with  him,  and  be  left  with  my  mother  there 
until  I  was  stronger, — I  think  the  good  nurse 
I  had  scarcely  expected  me  to  recover.  Mr.  Bat- 
terly had  always  been  a  drinking  man,  though  I 
was  unaware  of  this  when  I  married  him.  On  the 
steamer  he  drank  so  heavily  that  he  was  in  his 
stateroom  in  a  drunken  stupor  most  of  the  time, 
he  afterwards  confessed.  Then — there  was  a 

299 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

storm  and  a  collision  in  the  night — and  the  ship 
Mr.  Batterly  was  on  went  down  off  Cape  Flat- 
tery. Mr.  Batterly  was  rescued  by  a  man  who 
shared  his  stateroom — a  man  he  had  known  for 
years.  But  my  little  boy — my  Baby — was  never 
seen  again." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Haidee  shuddered 
and  closed  her  eyes,  biting  her  lips  that  were 
writhing  and  gray.  After  a  short  interval  she 
went  on  in  a  low,  strained  tone : 

"Mr.  Batterly  and  I  parted  soon  after.  My 
mother  died  that  summer  and  I  went  to  Paris  to 
study  art.  While  in  Paris  last  winter,  in  a 
Seattle  paper,  I  read  of  Mr.  Batterly's  death  at 
Nome.  His  name  was  probably  confused  with 
that  of  his  partner.  I  did  not  know  he  had  a 
partner.  This  spring  I  returned  to  America, 
and  with  a  sudden  longing  for  the  West  I  came 
out  to  visit  Janet  Jones  in  Spokane.  It  was  then 
I  was  obsessed  with  the  desire  to  paint  this  beau- 
tiful river  country.  Janet  Jones  aided  and 
abetted  me.  I  purchased  a  riding  horse  and  went 
to  board  on  a  ranch  near  Kingman.  It  was 
deadly.  When  I  walked  into  your  workshop  I 
had  ridden  all  day,  fully  determined  to  find  a 
habitation  of  my  own." 

I  had  glanced  at  Haidee  once  or  twice  to  find 
300 


RENUNCIATION 

that  her  eyes  were  still  closed.  But  now,  as  she 
finished,  she  opened  them  wide,  and  at  the  look  of 
misery  I  saw  in  them  I  cried  out  quickly : 

"Don't  tell  me  any  more — please — please — " 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  tell,"  she  answered 
dully. 

"Thank  you  for  your  confidence.  Before  I 
told  you  all  I  have  to  tell  I  thought  it  best  to  ask 
it  of  you." 

"You  have  something  to  tell  me?  For  you 
things  are  righting — you  have  found  your  boy! 
For  me  everything  seems  wrong  in  the  world — 
everything!  But  now — may  I  see  Joey,  please, 
before  long?" 

"Mrs.  Batterly,"  I  asked,  "may  I  tell  you 
Joey's  short  history?" 

At  my  abrupt  tone  she  turned  her  eyes  to  mine, 
wonderingly.  "Surely,"  she  replied. 

"It  is  a  pitifully  meagre  one.  I  found  him 
sobbing  on  the  doorstep  of  a  humble  cabin,  one 
night,  four  years  ago  last  June.  I  took  him  in 
my  arms  and  entered  the  place,  to  find  within  a 
dying  woman.  She  told  me  that  the  child  was  a 
waif,  picked  up  on  the  beach  after  a  storm  on 
Puget  Sound,  by  her  brother,  who  was  a  fisher- 
man, a  year  before.  Her  brother  had  died  six 
months  previous  and  she  had  taken  the  child. 

301 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

The  woman  passed  away  that  night,  and  I  carried 
the  child  home.  Mrs.  Batterly,  your  husband 
gleaned  this  story  from  Wanza.  He  took  Joey 
and  secreted  him  in  a  cabin,  thinking  the  lad  his 
child  and  yours — " 

Haidee  broke  in  on  my  recital  with  a  gasping 
cry:  "My  child — mine?" 

"Mrs.  Batterly,  was  there  a  mark  on  your 
baby's  chest— a  mark  you  could  identify  him  by?" 

"Yes,  yes! — a  bright  red  mark — oh,  not  large 
— the  size  of  a  quarter — just  over  his  heart." 

"Joey  has  such  a  mark,  though  it  is  a  mark  con- 
siderably larger  than  a  quarter — and  it  is  higher 
than  his  heart." 

A  doubt  that  I  was  ashamed  of  stirred  my 
breast,  seeing  the  eagerness  on  the  face  before  me. 
A  doubt  that  returned  later  during  forlorn  hard 
days  to  haunt  me.  I  said  to  myself  that  I  knew 
not  even  on  what  shore  of  the  great  Sound  Joey 
was  discovered.  But  Haidee  was  speaking  im- 
petuously: 

"He  has  grown — the  mark  has  grown  too,  and 
is  higher  up!  I  have  a  scar  on  my  forehead  al- 
most hidden  by  my  hair  that  was  much  lower 
down  when  I  was  a  child."  She  rose,  her  face 
working,  her  whole  slight  figure  quivering.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Dale,  give  me  my  child!" 

302 


RENUNCIATION 

I  went  to  the  door  and  gave  my  whistle  and 
Joey  responded.  Haidee  took  him  in  her  arms, 
and  he  told  his  story  to  her  much  as  he  had  told  it 
to  me.  But  when  he  finished,  he  looked  up  in 
her  face  questioningly : 

"I  won't  have  to  leave  Mr.  David,  will  I?"  he 
queried.  "He's  my  only  really,  truly  daddy. 
He'd  be  terrible  lonesome  without  me.  Why,  I 
most  guess  he  couldn't  get  along  without  me,  Bell 
Brandon!" 

"Dear,  dear  little  boy,  don't  you  understand? 
You  have  a  mother,  now."  Haidee's  arms  held 
him  close.  Her  cheek  rested  against  his.  Look- 
ing at  her  I  hated  myself  for  the  pang  I  felt. 

And  so  my  little  lad  went  out  of  my  keeping. 
I  left  him  with  Haidee  and  went  back  to  take  up 
my  niggardly  existence  at  Cedar  Dale. 

Anxious  days  ensued.  My  heart  was  heavy 
with  thoughts  of  Wanza.  I  could  not  eat  nor 
sleep.  And  every  day  Griffith  Lyttle  and  I  con- 
sulted together,  and  held  wearing  conclaves  in  the 
office  of  Wanza's  attorney.  And  some  way  I 
found  myself  distrait  and  unnatural  in  Haidee's 
presence  and  consumed  with  bitter  melancholy 
when  alone. 

What  had  come  over  me?  When  I  was  with 
Haidee  all  my  speech  was  of  Wanza.  When  I 

303 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

was  alone  all  my  thoughts  were  of  her.  Haidee 
was  free — but  I  realized  this  but  dimly.  The 
thought  of  Wanza's  position  was  paramount.  In 
the  long  night  vigils  I  saw  her  face.  I  recalled 
the  look  I  had  surprised  on  it  once — the  secret 
never  intended  for  my  reading — and  my  compas- 
sion and  wonder  overpowered  me.  That  Wanza 
should  care  for  me! — I  felt  like  falling  on  my 
knees  in  humbleness. 

My  loneliness  was  intense.  I  began  to  realize 
that  Joey  had  gone  out  of  my  life — that  his  place 
was  henceforth  not  with  me — never  with  me 
again. 

The  love  of  a  man  for  a  small  boy  is  composed 
of  various  ingredients,  it  has  spice  in  it,  and  ten- 
derness, and  pride,  and  hope,  and  fellowship — 
and  a  lilt  of  melody  goes  through  it  that  lightens 
the  most  rigid  days  of  discipline.  So  when  the 
small  boy  goes  out  of  the  home,  the  man  is  bereft 
of  joy  and  inspiration  and  companionship.  At 
first  I  went  daily  to  Hidden  Lake,  and  Joey  came 
daily  to  Cedar  Dale.  But  one  day  when  Joey 
was  begging  me  to  make  him  a  bow  gun  I  sur- 
prised a  wistful  gleam  in  Haidee's  soft  eyes. 
She  drew  the  lad  into  her  arms. 

"Mother  will  buy  you  a  wonderful  gun,"  she 
promised. 

304 


RENUNCIATION 

"But  I'd  rather  have  Mr.  David  make  it,  Bell 
Brandon.  I  guess  women  don't  know  what  boys 
like— just." 

The  hurt  look  in  the  purple-black  eyes  went  to 
my  heart.  After  that  I  went  not  so  often  to  Hid- 
den Lake. 

I  took  to  using  Joey's  room  as  a  sort  of  study. 
I  fitted  up  a  desk  near  the  window,  and  here  I 
wrote  on  my  novel,  and  wrought  at  wood  carving 
for  the  Christmas  trade.  Finding  me  here  one 
day  carving  a  frame  for  an  old  photograph  of 
Wanza,  Haidee  looked  at  me  oddly,  turned 
swiftly  and  went  from  the  room,  while  Joey 
stared  eagerly,  and  whispered : 

"Oh,  Mr.  David,  some  day  I'm  coming  back  to 
stay  in  my  dear  old  room.  Tain't  nice  at  Bell 
Brandon's  for  a  boy.  They's  a  white  spread  on 
the  bed,  and  blue  ribbons  to  tie  back  the  curtains. 
And  when  the  coyotes  holler  Bell  Brandon's 
frightened  too." 

Later  on  the  porch  at  parting,  Haidee  said  to 
me: 

"Have  you  worked  long  on  the  frame  you  are 
carving  for  Wanza's  picture?" 

"Since — oh,  I  began  it  about  the  time  Joey 
was  lost,"  I  answered. 

She  looked  at  me  curiously. 
305 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Wanza  is  very  lovely  in  that  picture." 

"She  is.  She  is  growing  more  beautiful  every 
day,"  I  answered  thoughtfully;  "her  soul  shines 
in  her  face.  I  realize  each  time  I  see  her  how  her 
character  is  rounding — how  sturdy  and  fine  she  is 
in  her  trouble." 

After  Haidee  had  gone  I  recalled  the  look  she 
had  flung  at  me  as  she  turned  and  went  down  the 
steps,  saying: 

"Wanza  is  very  fortunate  to  have  you  for  a 
friend,  very  fortunate  indeed." 

I  asked  myself  what  her  look  had  meant. 

Another  week  passed.  I  finished  my  novel. 
And  one  day  soon  after  I  rode  to  Roselake,  ex- 
pressed the  manuscript  to  a  publishing  firm,  and 
rode  homeward  feeling  that  my  affairs  were  on 
the  knees  of  the  gods. 

Not  far  from  Cedar  Dale  I  left  the  road  and 
took  the  trail  that  led  through  the  woods.  In  the 
woods  I  dismounted  and  went  forward  slowly, 
my  horse's  bridle  on  my  arm.  It  was  a  gray  day, 
lightened  by  a  yellow  haze.  I  was  enraptured 
with  the  peculiar  light  that  came  through  the 
trees.  The  foliage  about  me  was  copper  and 
flame.  Presently  I  heard  voices,  and  looking 
through  the  trees  I  saw  Haidee  and  Joey.  They 
were  kneeling  in  a  little  open  space,  gathering 

306 


RENUNCIATION 

pine  cones.  Haidee  was  bareheaded  and  her 
sleeves  were  rolled  back,  exposing  her  round, 
white  arms.  Her  figure  was  lithe  and  supple  as 
she  knelt  there,  her  drooping  face  full  of  witchery 
and  charm. 

I  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  Joey  well. 
His  face  was  thinner,  his  carriage  not  so  gallant 
as  formerly.  There  was  less  buoyancy  in  his 
voice.  Something  sprightly  was  missing  in  his 
whole  aspect, — a  certain  confidence  and  dare. 
He  was  not  the  Cedar  Dale  elf  I  had  known. 
What  had  changed  him  so  ? 

I  went  forward  and  Joey  cried  out  and  hurled 
himself  into  my  arms.  Haidee  stood  up  and 
drew  the  lad  to  her  with  a  nervous  motion. 

"Joey,"  I  said,  "run  away  and  see  what  Jingles 
is  barking  at  so  furiously.  A  fat  rabbit  has  just 
escaped  him." 

Joey  bounded  away  shrieking  with  excitement. 
I  studied  Haidee  deliberately  as  her  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  childish  figure.  Her  eyes  were  brood- 
ing and  solemn  and  sweet  as  she  watched,  but 
there  was  a  shadow  on  her  brow. 

"Too  bad,"  I  said  speaking  out  my  thought, 
"for  Joey's  mother  to  be  jealous  of  me." 

"Do  you  think  that  of  me?"  she  faltered. 

"He  is  all  yours — no  one  on  the  face  of  the 
307 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

earth  has  the  slightest  claim  on  him  excepting 
yourself." 

Our  eyes  met;  hers  were  startled  yet  defiant; 
and  I  am  afraid  mine  were  a  trifle  accusing. 

"Do  not  speak  to  me  like  this — do  not  dare!" 
Then  suddenly  she  softened.  "But  you  are  right 
— perhaps.  When  I  think  of  the  days  and 
months  you  had  him  and  I  was  bereft — when  I 
think  how  much  you  mean  to  him — more  than  I 
mean — oh,  it  hurts!  I  am  a  wretch." 

"No,  no,"  I  said  hastily.  "I  did  not  under- 
stand, that  is  all." 

"You  have  not  understood — and  it  has  altered 
your  manner  to  me,  that  is  it,  is  it  not?  You  have 
thought  me  weak,  and  selfish,  and  ungrateful. 
Well,  I  am  not  ungrateful ;  but  I  have  been  sel- 
fish. I  have  thought  not  enough  of  you  and 
Joey.  But  now  I  have  confessed,  and  I  shall  be 
more  considerate."  Her  hand  came  out  to  me. 
"Let  us  shake  hands."  Tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

I  took  her  hand  with  shame  and  contrition.  I 
reached  home  utterly  miserable.  Had  Haidee 
changed  or  had  I  changed?  What  had  come 
over  us?  The  spontaneity  and  warmth  had 
seeped  from  our  friendship.  There  seemed  to  be 
a  shadow  between  us  that  each  was  futile  to  lift. 

I  said  to  myself  that  when  I  heard  from  my 
308 


RENUNCIATION 

novel — if  the  word  was  favorable — I  should  go  to 
her— I  could  at  least  tell  her 'of  my  hopes  for  the 
future — I  could  lay  my  love  at  her  feet.  All 
should  be  made  plain;  the  cloud  should  be  dis- 
persed. 

And  so  the  weeks  went  past. 


309 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEN    CHRISTMAS   CAME 

ONE  day  close  on  to  Christmas,  Wanza 
was  tried  for  the  murder  of  Randall 
Batterly,  and  after  a  record-breaking 
trial  that  lasted  but  five  hours,  acquitted.     The 
verdict  said  that  Randall  Batterly  was  killed  by 
the  accidental  discharge  of  a  revolver  dropped  by 
his  own  hand. 

In  the  twilight  of  that  strange  day  I  drove 
Wanza  to  her  home,  where  old  Grif  Lyttle 
awaited  her.  It  was  a  gray  twilight,  the  snow 
was  drifted  into  gleaming  heaps  on  either  side  of 
the  road,  the  river  crawled  darkly  along  between 
its  fleecy  banks.  We  found  no  words  to  say  at 
first,  but  when  I  heard  a  sob  in  Wanza's  throat 
I  turned  and  put  my  arm  across  her  shoulders. 

"There,  there,  Wanza!"  I  whispered,  sooth- 
ingly. 

She  wept  quietly.  Presently  she  said,  between 
smiles  and  tears : 

310 


WHEN  CHRISTMAS  CAME 

"It  will  soon  be  Christmas.  I  will  try  to  give 
father  a  good  Christmas,  Mr.  Dale." 

"There,  there,  Wanza,"  I  said,  again. 

She  drew  away,  and  with  both  hands  pushed 
back  the  hood  that  she  had  drawn  over  her  face 
on  leaving  the  jail. 

"Mrs.  Batterly  wants  to  send  me  away,  soon 
after  Christmas — away  back  East  to  school — 
where  I  can  forget,"  she  faltered. 

Her  blue  eyes  widened  to  great  round  wells  of 
misery,  the  tears  rained  down  her  altered  cheeks. 

"You  will  forget,"  I  soothed  her;  "it  was  an 
accident,  my  dear." 

"Oh,  but  Mr.  Dale,  I  felt  that  I  could  kill  him 
— for  being  so  disrespectful  to  me — for  speaking 
so  bold — for  kissing  me!  I  had  murder  in  my 
heart !  I  remember  one  night  in  the  woods  when 
we  were  gipsying — do  you  mind  it,  Mr.  Dale? 
— you  took  my  hands,  and  I  thought  you  was  go- 
ing to  kiss  me,  you  looked  at  me  so  long,  but  you 
didn't — you  respected  me  too  much!  Why  if 
you  had  'a  kissed  me — not  loving  me — Mr.  Dale, 
it  would  'a  killed  me.  And  I  think  I  could  al- 
most 'a  killed  you." 

I  looked  into  her  face,  and  suddenly  I  was 
back  again  in  the  wind-stirred  forest  with  the 
black  elf-locks  of  a  gipsy  wench  brushing  my  lips, 

311 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

her  hands  held  close,  her  eyes,  burningly  blue, 
lifted  to  mine  in  the  firelight.  I  heard  her  voice 
whispering:  "If  I  was  a  gipsy,  and  you  was  a 
gipsy  things  would  be  different."  I  recalled  the 
words  of  the  song  I  had  sung: 

"Marna  of  the  wind's  will, 
Daughter  of  the  sea — " 

I  sighed.     Marna  of  the  wind's  will,  indeed ! 

This  conversation  left  a  sore  spot  in  my  heart. 
I  was  dejected  and  miserable  for  days.  The  day 
before  Christmas  arrived  and  late  in  the  after- 
noon I  rode  into  Roselake.  I  purchased  some 
bolts  for  a  sled  I  was  making  for  Joey,  got  my 
mail,  and  returned  home  at  dusk. 

I  built  a  fire  at  once  in  the  fireplace  in  the  front 
room,  and  went  over  my  mail  eagerly  by  the  light 
of  my  green-shaded  lamp.  One  envelope  bore 
the  New  York  postmark,  and  I  opened  it  with 
nervous  fingers.  I  read  the  communication  it 
contained,  and  sat,  a  warm,  surging  joy  trans- 
fusing my  whole  being.  The  publishing  firm  in 
New  York  had  accepted  my  novel  for  publica- 
tion, and  the  terms  mentioned  were  generous  be- 
yond my  wildest  visionings. 

There  was  another  communication  that  I  read 
over  and  over;  and  as  I  read  I  knew  that  I  was 


WHEN  CHRISTMAS  CAME 

free  at  last — yes,  free  for  ever — free  to  ask  any 
woman  in  the  world  to  be  my  wife;  I  knew  that 
the  search  light  of  justice  could  be  turned  on  a 
folded  page  of  my  past  that  had  long  been  hid- 
den, and  that  there  would  be  no  tarnish  on  the 
page.  For  the  letter  said  that  my  poor  old 
father  was  dead,  and  in  dying  had  confessed  to  a 
forgery  committed  eight  years  ago — a  crime 
which  his  son  had  tacitly  admitted  himself  to  be 
guilty  of  when  he  had  stolen  away  under  cover  of 
the  night  and  disappeared,  rather  than  face  an 
investigation. 

The  daily  papers  had  blazoned  abroad  the 
shooting  of  Randall  Batterly,  and  the  subsequent 
trial  of  Wanza  Lyttle,  and  my  name  had  ap- 
peared in  the  account,  the  writer  who  was  my 
father's  lawyer  explained.  A  letter  to  the  post- 
master at  Roselake  had  resulted  in  further  estab- 
lishing my  identity. 

The  writer  had  the  honor  to  inform  me  that  my 
father  had  left  a  snug  little  fortune — the  result 
of  some  recent  fortunate  mining  ventures — that 
would  accrue  to  me,  and  he  begged  me  to  come 
back  to  my  southern  home  and  take  my  rightful 
place  among  the  people.  I  shook  my  head  at 
this.  Who  was  there  in  the  old  home  who  would 
welcome  me?  My  mother  was  long  since  dead — 

313 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

my  father  gone.  There  was  no  one  belonging  to 
me  left  in  the  old  place.  It  would  be  more 
strange  and  forlorn  than  an  entirely  new  com- 
munity. I  should  like  to  visit  it  again.  But  that 
was  all. 

I  dropped  the  letter  to  the  floor,  and  sat  think- 
ing of  Haidee.  And  as  I  thought  I  smiled  ten- 
derly. *  After  a  time  I  decided  that  Haidee 
should  see  these  important  letters — that  I  should 
go  to  her.  And  on  a  sudden  impulse  I  rose  up. 

As  I  opened  the  door  the  snow  was  falling,  and 
there  was  a  ring  around  the  moon.  I  left  the 
door  open  and  stepped  back  into  the  house,  going 
to  the  cedar  room  to  get  my  sweater.  When  I 
returned,  a  woman  with  snow-powdered  hair  was 
stepping  hesitatingly  across  the  threshold.  Hai- 
dee! 

"It  is  you!  Out  so  late — alone!"  I  began. 
"And  in  this  storm." 

But  the  big  eyes  only  smiled  at  me,  and  she 
stood  there  like  a  beautiful  wraith  in  her  long 
gray  cloak. 

"Let  me  take  your  cloak,"  I  said. 

I  went  to  her,  and  she  put  both  hands  on  my 
shoulders  impulsively. 

"I  haven't  thought  of  the  weather.  Ever  since 
I  saw  you  last  I've  thought  of  you, — and  thought, 

314 


WHEN  CHRISTMAS  CAME 

and  thought.  It's  Christmas  Eve,  you  know.  I 
have  come  to  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas,  and  I 
have  brought  you  a  Christmas  gift — one  to  keep 
till  spring,  at  least." 

"Come  to  the  fire,"  I  urged. 

She  sat  down  and  I  sat  down  opposite  her. 
The  firelight  caressed  her,  played  in  her  eyes, 
ruddied  her  cheeks  that  were  glowing  from  her 
walk  through  the  wintry  air. 

"In  all  the  time  I  have  known  you  this  is  the 
first  time  I  have  ever  shared  your  fire,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

There  was  a  silence.  I  could  hear  my  heart- 
beats. How  fine  of  her  to  come  to  me  in  this 
womanly  fashion!  I  sat  and  watched  her.  A 
lock  of  hair  had  fallen  over  her  ivory  brow.  She 
had  dropped  her  head  forward  on  to  her  hand, 
and  her  dewy  lips  were  parted.  I  stooped  closer, 
closer  still.  A  tear  slipped  down  on  her  smooth 
cheek  and  glistened  in  the  firelight  as  I  gazed. 
She  turned  her  face  away. 

"What  gift  have  you  brought  me?"  I  whis- 
pered. 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  shadows  beyond 
the  circle  of  light  cast  by  the  green-shaded  lamp 
— a  rustle  and  a  stir — then  a  swift  hurtling  of  a 
small  lithe  figure  across  the  open  space — a  pause 

315 


— a  swooping,  frantic  clutch  of  young  strong 
arms  about  my  neck,  and  Joey,  all  wet  and  steam- 
ing in  his  snowy  coat,  had  me  fast,  shouting  in  my 
ear,  over  and  over  again : 

"I'm  your  Christmas  gift,  Mr.  David!  I'm 
your  Christmas  gift." 

He  was  in  my  arms,  and  Haidee  had  drawn 
back  and  was  smiling  at  me,  her  eyes  like  great 
luminous  pools  of  fire. 

"What  a  wonderful,  wonderful  present,"  I  re- 
sponded shakily.  "Now,  who  could  have  sent 
me  this  very  best  present  in  the  world?" 

"Bell  Brandon,"  shrieked  my  little  lad.  "She 
did  not  send  me — she  brought  me." 

"Then — she  must  have  another  gift  for  me," 
I  said  boldly,  and  held  out  my  hand  to  Haidee. 

She  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  grave,  but  her 
lips  still  smiling. 

"I  have  brought  Joey  to  you — but — I  cannot 
stay.  I  am  going  away.  Will  you  keep  my  boy 
until  I  return?" 

"You  are  going  away?" 

She  bent  her  head. 

"I  am  going  to  take  Wanza  back  East.  I 
want  to  go  away  for  a  time — it  is  best  for  me  to 
go.  But — you  must  not  be  separated  from  Joey 
all  this  long  winter,  David  Dale.  My  boy  shall 

316 


WHEN  CHRISTMAS  CAME 

stay  with  you — and  in  the  spring  I  shall  come  for 
him — or  come  back  to  stay  at  Hidden  Lake." 

"You  are  going  away — soon — after  Christ- 
mas?" 

"To-morrow.  We  are  going  to-morrow — 
Wanza  and  I — we  decided  it  only  to-day.  I 
have  some  matters  to  attend  to  in  New  York.  I 
must  go  at  once." 

"Christmas  Day?" 

"Yes." 

"Wait — do  not  go — stay  with  me  as  my  wife, 
my  wife !  I  have  sold  my  book — I  am  free  too, 
of  an  old,  old  shadow.  Oh,  I  have  much  to  tell 
you — much  to  talk  over  with  you.  Wait — let  me 
read  to  you  some  letters." 

My  voice  was  rough  with  emotion.  She  held 
up  her  hand. 

"When  I  come  back,  David  Dale,  my  friend — 
not  now.  We  need  to  gain  perspective — you 
and  I.  I  have  been  through  an  ordeal — I  am 
shaken — I  am  not  myself.  I  don't  see  clearly. 
And  as  for  you — David  Dale,  there  is  much  for 
you  to  learn." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  cried  brusquely. 

She  smiled  at  me  sweetly  and  a  little  sadly. 

"Oh,  you  are  a  stupid  blundering  David." 
She  shook  her  head.  "But — wait  till  spring." 

317 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"There  is  so  much  I  want  to  say — explain,"  I 
stammered. 

"Wait  till  spring." 

"But  I  cannot  keep  Joey.  I  cannot  let  you 
go  without  your  boy." 

"He  will  be  better  off  with  you." 

"I  cannot  accept  such  a  sacrifice." 

On  this  point  I  remained  firm.  We  argued. 
Haidee  entreated,  and  Joey  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  stay.  I  would  not  listen  to  either  voice.  I 
arose  at  last. 

"Joey,"  I  said,  speaking  slowly,  in  order  to 
steady  my  voice,  "I  have  one  more  bolt  to  put 
in  the  sled  I  am  making  for  you.  Will  you  come 
to  the  workshop  with  me?" 

And  in  the  shop  away  from  every  eye,  I  said 
good-bye  to  my  lad.  And  as  I  kissed  him  the 
old  doubt  stirred.  Was  I  so  sure  he  was 
Haidee's  child? 

Old  Lundquist  came  for  Haidee;  and  we  said 
a  conventional  good-bye  beneath  his  prying  eyes. 

Until  twelve  I  waited  and  watched  for  Wanza, 
expecting  every  instant  to  hear  Captain  Grif's 
voice  at  the  door,  and  to  see  Wanza  step  over  the 
threshold.  Surely  she  would  not  go  without 
some  last  word  to  me.  But  she  came  not. 


318 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"THE  FLOWER  WILL  BLOOM  ANOTHER  YEAR" 

I  SAT  by  my  fire  throughout  the  long  night. 
When  dawn  came  I  rose,  went  to  the  door 
and  threw  it  wide  and  stepped  outside  into 
the  unstained  air  of  the  morning.     There  was  a 
carpet  of  snow  on  the  ground,  the  bushes  were 
like  gleaming  teepes,  and  the  limbs  of  the  pine 
trees  were  weighted  with  icicles.     I  repeated  to 
myself  Thoreau's  words:     "God  exhibits  himself 
in  a  frosted  bush  to-day,  as  much  as  he  did  in  a 
burning  one  to  Moses." 

The  light  was  purple  and  cold  and  solemn,  the 
moon  still  hung  in  the  gray  of  the  western  sky, 
but  in  the  East  there  was  a  glorious  band  of 
crimson  and  the  mountain  tops  looked  as  if  aflame 
with  little  bonfires.  As  I  stood  there  a  ruby- 
crowned  kinglet  fluttered  from  twig  to  twig  of 
the  elderberry  bush  hard  by,  emitting  its  bright 
"zei,  zei,"  and  a  chickadee  answered  with  a 
merry  "chickadee-a-dee,  dee,  dee,"  from  the  yew 
grove.  I  waited.  I  was  praying  the  kinglet 
would  sing.  And  presently  the  tiny  thing  began. 

319 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

It  poured  forth  its  strong  sweet  notes  in  a  suc- 
cession of  trills. 

"Bird,"  I  said,  "you  are  a  wonder.  I  know 
that  the  muscles  in  your  throat  are  almost  micro- 
scopic. I  have  always  told  Joey — "  But  here 
I  ceased  to  admonish  the  bird,  I  went  back  up  the 
porch  steps. 

As  I  was  closing  the  door  I  heard  the  rattle 
of  the  stage  as  it  passed  along  the  river  road  on 
Ms  way  to  the  village.  The  driver  shouted  a 
merry  Christmas  to  some  one  on  the  road.  I 
threw  a  fresh  log  on  the  fire  and  sat  down  heavily 
in  my  chair.  It  was  Christmas  morning — and 
they  had  gone ! 

I  drowsed  after  a  time,  lying  back  in  my  great 
chair  with  the  collie  asleep  at  my  feet.  When  I 
awakened  the  sun  was  high,  and  the  world  outside 
my  window  was  so  sparkling  and  bright  that  it 
dazzled  my  sight.  I  went  to  the  kitchen,  kindled 
a  fire,  and  opened  the  kitchen  door  to  let  the  collie 
out.  I  was  washing  my  hands  at  the  wash  bench 
in  the  corner,  when  I  heard  the  latch  of  the  door 
click.  Footsteps  crossed  the  floor,  some  one  was 
coming  up  behind  me  saying: 

"I  have  brought  a  chicken  pie  for  your  dinner, 
Mr.  Dale — Dad'll  be  along  soon — and  I  wish  you 
a  Merry  Christmas." 

320 


"THE  FLOWER  WILL  BLOOM" 

It  was  Wanza. 

She  stood  there  as  she  had  so  often  stood  be- 
fore, a  white-covered  basket  on  one  arm,  the  other 
filled  with  bundles.  But  her  face  was  pale  to- 
day, and  her  glorious  hair  was  swept  straight 
back  from  her  brow  and  tucked  away  beneath  a 
net,  and  her  apparel  was  sober  gray.  I  stared  at 
her  and  stared  and  stared,  until  the  pink  ran  up 
in  her  cheek  and  she  dropped  the  bundles  and  set 
down  the  basket,  that  she  might  put  her  hands 
over  her  abashed  face.  I  stood  there  and  felt 
shaken  and  dumbfounded,  not  attempting  to 
speak,  afraid  indeed  of  the  sound  of  my  own 
voice. 

The  fire  crackled.  Cheerily  through  the  door 
Wanza  had  left  open  behind  her,  came  the 
chickadee's  note.  The  sunlight  was  dazzling  as 
it  struck  into  my  eyes  from  the  white  oilcloth  on 
the  kitchen  table.  The  room  seemed  suddenly 
illumined,  the  air  electric  and  revitalized.  At 
length  I  stammered  out: 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!" 

"It's  only  chicken  pie,"  she  whispered. 

"Thank  you  for  not  going." 

At  that  she  threw  up  her  head,  her  hands 
dropped.  She  said  proudly: 

"Did  you  think  I'd  go  on  Christmas  Day? 
321 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

Did  you  think  I'd  have  the  heart  to  go,  Mr. 
Dale?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  wearily,  "I  thought  you  had 
gone,  Wanza.  Why  not?" 

"And  I'll  tell  you  why  not!  It's  because  you 
decided  Joey  was  to  go  that  I  could  not  go.  I 
could  not  go  and  leave  you  when  I  found  Joey 
was  to  go — oh,  no!" 

"But  you  must  go  some  day,  Wanza,"  I  said, 
scarce  knowing  what  I  said. 

"And  why  must  I  go  some  day?  Why  must 
I?  I  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do,  Mr.  David 
Dale,  I'm  going  to  stay  on  here  in  Roselake,  and 
I  am  going  to  live  up  to  the  very  best  there  is  in 
me.  I  am  going  to  improve  and  grow  big  and 
fine  and  womanly.  I'm  going  to  do  it  right  here. 
And  then  maybe  some  day,"  she  sighed,  "when 
Dad  does  not  need  me  any  more,  and  you  do  not 
need  me  any  more,  I  will  have  enough  money 
saved  up,  and  I  will  go  away  and  get  educated." 

In  her  excitement  she  had  pressed  closer  to  me 
and  laid  one  hand  against  my  chest.  I  placed  my 
own  hand  over  it  as  I  said  very  gently : 

"Let  me  teach  you,  Wanza — be  my  pupil.  I 
will  become  your  tutor  in  earnest,  if  you  will  have 
me.  Yes !  I  will  go  to  your  father's  house  every 
day  to  instruct  you, — and  it  will  give  me  great 


"THE  FLOWER  WILL  BLOOM" 

happiness.  Ah,  Wanza,  now  that  Joey  has  gone 
I  feel  so  futile — so  useless!  Let  me  undertake 
your  education,  child." 

The  burning  eyes  came  up  to  mine,  and  ques- 
tioned them.  The  pale  face  flushed.  There  was 
a  pathetic  tremulousness  about  the  lips. 

"Say  yes,"  I  urged. 

Her  head  drooped,  lowered  itself  humbly  until 
her  hair  brushed  my  arm,  and  suddenly  she  kissed 
my  hand,  passionately,  gratefully.  "Oh,  Mr. 
David  Dale,"  she  breathed,  "you're  grand! 
That's  what  you  are.  Yes  and  yes,  and  yes!" 

And  so  I  ate  my  dinner  with  Wanza  and 
Captain  Grif  sitting  opposite  me  at  the  table,  and 
Wanza  flouted  me  when  I  would  have  served  her 
too  liberally  with  the  most  succulent  bits  of  the 
pie,  and  Captain  Grif  rallied  me  when  I  con- 
fessed that  I  had  small  appetite,  and  produced 
a  bottle  of  root  beer  and  a  bag  of  cheese  cakes 
from  the  basket. 

Night  came  down  at  last  to  my  weary  soul  and 
soon  after  it  grew  dark  Wanza  and  her  father 
departed.  I  locked  the  door  behind  them  and  I 
threw  myself,  dressed  as  I  was,  on  my  bunk  and 
buried  my  head  in  the  pillows.  The  evening 
wore  on.  The  fire  sputtered  and  burned  low,  the 
wind  came  up  and  hissed  around  the  cabin.  A 

383 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

coyote  howled  from  some  distant  hill.  The  room 
grew  dark.  A  pall  was  on  my  heart. 

As  the  winter  wore  on  I  became  vastly  inter- 
ested in  Wanza's  education.  I  gave  two  hours 
each  day  to  her  lessons.  And  not  many  evenings 
passed  without  lessons  in  the  snug  little  room 
beneath  the  eaves  of  the  cottage  she  called  home. 
There  with  our  books  open  before  us,  beneath  the 
light  from  the  swinging  lamp,  we  pored  over 
tedious  pages  shoulder  to  shoulder,  smiled  on  by 
old  Grif  and  encouraged  by  Father  O'Shan,  who 
ofttimes  shared  our  evenings. 

It  was  wonderful  the  improvement  I  marked 
in  Wanza  as  the  weeks  slipped  past.  Her  Eng- 
lish improved  markedly.  She  was  painstaking 
and  indefatigible.  She  applied  herself  so  as- 
siduously that  I  began  to  fear  lest  she  should 
overwork,  as  the  warm  spring  days  came 
on. 

"Don't  study  too  hard,"  I  cautioned  her  one 
day. 

"I  can't  study  too  hard,"  she  flashed  back  at 
me.  And  then  she  smiled.  But  I  knew  she  was 
terribly  in  earnest. 

It  was  that  same  day  that  Father  O'Shan 
quoted  to  me,  as  we  were  walking  along  the  river 
road  together : 


"THE  FLOWER  WILL  BLOOM" 

"Shed  no  tear — Oh,  shed  no  tear! 
The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 
Weep  no  more — Oh,  weep  no  more! 
Young  buds  sleep  in  the  root's  white  core." 

"Do  you  mean  that  for  me,  Father?"  I  asked. 

"For  you — yes.     And  many  like  you." 

My  heart  swelled.  I  looked  about  me.  But- 
tercups were  gilding  the  sod — the  pussy  willows 
were  in  bloom  along  the  river.  It  was  the  spring. 

I  went  home  and  raked  the  dead  leaves  and 
pine  needles  away  from  under  the  trees  in  the 
Dingle.  A  few  yellow  violets  were  springing 
up.  From  beyond  the  syringa  thicket  a  faint 
"witchery,  witchery,  witchery,"  greeted  my  ears. 

I  went  forward  cautiously.  Peering  through 
the  interlaced  branches  I  saw  the  songster.  He 
was  swinging  on  a  thorn  bush,  a  wonderfully 
brilliant  little  chorister  in  his  black  cap  and 
yellow  stole.  I  whistled.  He  cocked  his  head 
on  one  side,  fixed  me  with  his  bright  eye,  then  flew 
to  a  willow  tree  and  favored  me  with  another 
burst  of  song.  This  time  he  seemed  to  oft  re- 
peat, "Which  way,  oh?"  He  sang  it  so  per- 
sistently that  presently  I  replied,  "Straight  on, 
sir." 

I  went  to  the  cabin  and  consulted  the  calendar. 
It  was  the  last  day  of  March. 

325 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

My  spirit,  that  had  seemed  earthward  crushed 
for  months,  grew  lighter  in  the  sweet  spring  daj^s 
that  followed.  I  took  the  return  of  April  as  a 
long-fore-gone  right.  I  ploughed  and  planted, 
I  made  bird-houses  and  arranged  bird-baths  in 
the  groves  hard  by  the  cabin.  I  paddled  in  my 
canoe  on  the  river,  and  fished  in  the  adjacent 
creeks.  And  I  went  with  Wanza  through  the 
woods  on  many  a  trillium  hunt. 

Sometimes  almost  to  breathlessness  I  felt 
Wanza's  charm,  the  galvanism  she  could  always 
transmit  to  those  with  her  intensified  by  some  new 
strange  quality  I  could  not  name.  It  was  like 
a  fillip  given  my  dispassion.  When  she  laughed 
and  chirped  to  the  squirrels,  when  she  carried  a 
wounded  bird  in  her  breast,  when  she  stood  on 
tip-toe,  her  face  like  a  taper-flame,  to  greet  the 
whole  outdoors  with  wide-flung  arms,  I  caught 
my  lip  between  my  teeth  and  watched  her  with 
observant  eyes.  Her  beauty  grew.  Even 
Father  O'Shan  remarked  it.  The  gowns  of  pink 
she  wore  once  served  to  deepen  the  rose  tint  in 
her  fair  cheeks;  but  her  cheeks  needed  no  such 
service  now;  they  were  like  a  red-rose  heart.  She 
had  taken  to  smoothing  and  banding  her  hair  and 
twisting  it  back  behind  her  small  ears  with  big 
shell  pins.  Her  head  seen  thus  was  as  lovely 

326 


a  shape  as  any  Greuze  ever  painted.  She 
frequently  wore  thin  blouses  of  white,  and  I 
seldom  saw  her  feet  in  sandals — she  had  a  sleeve- 
less black  gown  that  she  wore  to  a  country  dance 
one  evening  when  I  was  her  escort.  Looking  at 
her  that  night  I  could  scarcely  believe  it  was 
Wanza,  my  old  friend  and  playmate  whom  I  was 
in  attendance  upon,  and  I  paid  her  some  rather 
silly  compliments  and  was  promptly  rebuked  for 
my  gallantry. 

It  was  a  tidy  enough  fortune  my  dear  old 
father  had  left  me.  I  had  been  able  to  do  many 
things  to  make  Wanza  and  Captain  Grif  com- 
fortable and  happy  during  the  long  winter. 
Among  other  things  I  had  purchased  a  piano  for 
Wanza  to  replace  the  old  melodeon,  and  delighted 
Captain  Grif  with  the  gift  of  a  phonograph. 
And  last,  but  not  least,  I  had  made  the  last  pay- 
ment on  the  little  cottage  in  which  they  lived  and 
presented  the  deed  to  Captain  Grif  on  his  sixty- 
fifth  birthday. 

Dear  Captain  Grif!  His  manner  of  accept- 
ing this  last  gift  was  characteristic. 

"Tain't  for  myself  I'd  take  it.  I'd  just  about 
as  lief  worry  along  and  save  and  scrimp  toward 
makin'  the  final  payment —  I  'low  I'd  sooner; 
I  like  the  glory,  and  when  you  have  a  soft  thing 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

handed  to  you  there  ben't  nothin'  achieved.  I'm 
meanin'  it,  s-ship-mate.  Things  we  earn  is  the 
things  we  'preciate.  But  I  take  it  kindly  of  you. 
And  for  Wanza's  sake  I  thank  you  and  accept. 
'Tis  hard  on  the  gal — pinchin'  and  scrimpin' — 
and  peddlin'  in  winter  is  about  played  out — the 
roads  is  in  bad  shape  for  gettin'  about,  you'll  'low. 
Now  with  the  house  paid  for,  the  gal'll  have  what 
she  earns  for  ribbons  and  furbelows  and  trinkets. 
And  ownin'  sech  a  face  as  hern,  Mr.  Dale — 
though  it  don't  need  no  adornin' — sure  makes  a 
gal  long  for  fixin's.  I'm  grateful  and  pleased 
for  her  sake — I  sure  be."  Tears  dimmed  his 
kind  old  eyes.  His  hand  came  out  to  me. 
"Shake  hands,  David  Dale,  man;  you're  a  friend 
— a  friend.  We  need  friends — the  gal  and  I — 
seems  like  we  need  'em  more'n  we  used  since  all 
we  been  through, — and  I  want  to  say  right  here 
that  Wanza  never  would'a  perked  up  if  it  hadn't 
a  been  for  your  helpin'  her  this  winter.  She  was 
pretty  well  down,  Wanza  was.  Well,  in  my 
youth,  young  folks  was  different.  I  used  to 
think — I  used  to  think  one  time — well,  there, 
by  golly,  s-ship-mate,  it  makes  no  difference  what 
I  used  to  think !  I  was  mistook,  I  'low.  It  sure 
is  great  for  a  man  and  gal  to  be  such  friends  as 
you  and  Wanza — no  foolishness — no  tomfoolery ! 

328 


"THE  FLOWER  WILL  BLOOM" 

— it's  unusual — I  ain't  sayin'  that  it  tain't — but 
it's  fine,  s-ship-mate,  it's  fine." 

Through  the  winter  I  had  had  frequent  letters 
from  Haidee — frank,  friendly  letters,  filled  with 
stories  of  Joey — and  a  few  printed  epistles  from 
the  lad;  one  in  particular  that  impressed  me; 
"Joey  is  all  rite,"  it  said. 

I  discussed  this  with  Wanza,  who  said  tear- 
fully: 

"His  saying  that  makes  me  think  he  isn't.  He 
is  such  a  plucky  little  chap.  He  would  not  have 
you  worrying.  Not  that  I  think  he's  sick — sure 
enough  sick,  you  know;  but  I  just  feel  sure  he's 
pining." 

"Please — please,  Wanza,  don't  put  that 
thought  into  my  mind,"  I  said  hastily.  "If  I 
thought  Joey  were  happy  I  could  more  easily 
bear  his  absence." 

She  looked  at  me  and  shook  her  head.  Then 
she  smiled. 

"He'll  do  well  enough  till  spring.  But  he  will 
be  counting  the  days,  all  right." 


329 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MY   SURPRISE 

WHEN  May  came  I  began  to  look  for- 
ward in  earnest  to  the  return  of 
Haidee  and  Joey.  Every  day  since 
the  beginning  of  spring  I  had  gone  to  Hidden 
Lake  to  tend  the  vines  and  shrubs  that  I  had  set 
out  with  so  much  care  the  previous  fall.  I  had 
also  made  a  flower  bed  and  planted  the  seeds  of 
many  old-fashioned  flowers — larkspur,  Sweet 
William,  marigolds,  phlox,  lobelia,  clove  pinks 
and  mignonette,  sweet  peas  and  rosemary.  In 
another  few  weeks  the  little  cabin  would  be  sur- 
rounded by  bloom. 

A  Vigor's  wren  was  building  a  nest  in  the 
pergola,  and  a  calliope  humming-bird's  nest 
hung  on  a  pine  limb  near  the  kitchen  door,  not 
more  than  eight  feet  above  the  ground.  I  could 
scarcely  wait  for  Joey  to  see  the  latter.  The 
hours  I  spent  at  Hidden  Lake  were  filled  with 
strange  anticipations,  and  unanswered  questions 
and  grim  wonderment. 

330 


But  Fate  had  a  surprise  in  store  for  me. 

One  day  as  I  stood  looking  at  the  humming- 
bird's nest  a  man  approached  the  cabin  from  the 
wood  path  beyond  the  garden.  He  was  a  hard- 
faced  man,  a  grizzled,  uncouth  figure  of  a  man. 
I  took  an  instant  dislike  to  him  without  even 
waiting  to  see  his  features.  When  he  saw  me 
he  halted  irresolutely.  I  nodded  to  him  care- 
lessly, and  stooped  to  pull  a  stray  weed  from  the 
bed  of  thyme  beside  the  kitchen  door.  When  I 
looked  up  he  stood  beside  me. 

"Good  day,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Good  day,"  I  returned. 

"Is  Mrs.  Batterly  to  home?" 

"No,"  I  replied,  "Mrs.  Batterly  is  in  the  East." 

"Is  her  cabin  shut  up?" 

"It  is,"  I  said  curtly. 

"Well,  I  swan!  Say,  did  she  take  the  kid  with 
her?" 

"She  took  the  little  boy  with  her,  certainly." 

He  grinned,  showing  blackened  teeth  and  un- 
sightly gums.  "Um,"  he  said,  half  shutting  his 
red-lidded  eyes,  "tun,  um — you're  Mr.  Dale,  I 
take  it ;  I  have  seen  you  in  the  village." 

"Yes,  I  am  David  Dale,"  I  answered 
straightening  up.  "Is  there  anything  I  can  do 
for  you?" 

331 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

He  guffawed.  "No,"  he  chuckled,  "you  can't 
do  a  darn  thing  for  me,  but  you  bet  your  gosh 
darned  boots  I  can  do  something  for  you." 

I  turned  away  in  disgust. 

"Say,  partner,"  he  pulled  me  round  to  him  by 
the  sleeve,  "I  reckon  that  Mrs.  Batterly  took  the 
kid  with  her  thinking  the  kid  was  hern.  Well, 
he  ain't!" 

I  gaped  at  him.  He  grinned  at  me  in  a  would- 
be  friendly  manner. 

"My  name's  Bill  Jobson.  I'm  a  miner,"  he 
volunteered. 

"That  means  nothing  to  me,"  I  told  him 
sharply. 

"Well,  now,  I  don't  suppose  it  does!  See 
here!  I'm  the  man  as  helped  Randall  Batterly 
kidnap  your  boy,  Joey —  Wait  a  minute,  wait 
a  minute!  Don't  get  excited.  It  was  a  frame 
up — the  whole  darn  thing!  Batterly  never  had 
no  idea  the  kid  was  his.  He  framed  the  whole 
thing  up  to  get  a  rise  out  of  his  wife.  He  was 
set  on  getting  her  back,  and  he  took  that  way  of 
doing  it.  He  knew  mighty  well  the  kid  warn't 
his.  His  own  boy  died  from  an  over-dose  of 
medicine  Batterly  gave  it  one  night  when  he  was 
drunk,  on  board  the  ship  him  and  me  was  on 
going  from  Alaska  to  Seattle.  The  boy  died  in 


MY  SURPRISE 

my  arms,  and  was  buried  at  sea.  Batterly 
wouldn't  go  back  to  Alaska  and  face  his  wife 
and  tell  her  the  truth  about  the  child.  He  made 
me  swear  not  to  squeak.  And  he  went  back,  and 
he  let  on  to  his  wife  that  the  child  was  never  seen 
after  the  collision  between  our  ship  and  another, 
in  the  fog,  off  Cape  Flattery.  He  told  his  wife 
as  how  a  nurse  on  board  ship  had  the  babe  in  her 
stateroom,  caring  for  it,  the  night  of  the  wreck. 
There  was  a  nurse  on  board  who  was  drowned 
that  night,  so  the  story  passed  muster." 

I  watched  the  man  with  fascinated  eyes  as  he 
sat  down  on  the  doorstep,  filled  his  pipe  leisurely, 
and  struck  a  match  on  his  boot  heel.  The  full 
import  of  his  statement  did  not  sink  into  my  brain 
at  once.  When  it  did  I  said,  speaking  with  dry 
lips: 

"But  what  about  the  mark  on  the  lad's 
chest?" 

"That's  what  you  call  a  coincidence,  partner — 
that  and  their  age  seeming  to  be  the  same. 
When  Batterly  saw  the  mark  on  the  kid's  chest 
the  whole  blame  plan  came  to  him  quick  as 
lightning,  he  said.  And  when  the  girl,  Wanza 
Lyttle,  told  him  as  how  he  was  picked  up  by  a 
fisherman  over  on  the  Sound,  that  settled  it.  He 
took  a  chance  on  his  wife's  not  remembering  the 

333 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

mark  on  her  kid's  chest  was  just  over  his  heart. 
This  kid's  is  higher  up." 

Completely  unmanned,  I  sat  down  on  the  step 
beside  my  visitor,  and  rested  my  head  in  my 
hands.  "It  does  not  seem  possible  your  story  is 
true,"  I  groaned. 

Bill  Jobson  brought  his  hand  down  hard  on  my 
knee.  "Look  ahere,  Mr.  Dale,  do  you  think  I 
tramped  way  over  here  from  Roselake  to  see  Mrs. 
Batterly  just  because  I  wanted  a  country  stroll? 
Well,  I  didn't!  Get  that  through  your  head — 
quick!  I'm  a  busy  man —  I  oughtn't  to  have 
took  the  time  to  come  and  say  my  say  as  I 
have—" 

"Will  you  write  a  statement  and  have  it  wit- 
nessed, and  send  it  to  Mrs.  Batterly?"  I  inter- 
rupted. 

"I  will  that.  And  I'll  tell  you  why  I'm  doing 
it.  I'm  doing  it  because  I  used  to  see  the  little 
chap  with  you  in  the  village  last  summer  and  I 
saw  him  after  that  in  the  fall  with  Mrs.  Batterly, 
and  he  never  run  and  skipped  as  he  did  with  you. 
It  just  got  me  for  fair — it  did !  I've  been  intend- 
ing all  this  winter  to  see  Batterly 's  widder  and 
tell  her  the  gosh  darned  truth,  but  I  been  working 
in  the  Alice  mine,  a  good  fifty  mile  from  Rose- 
lake,  and  I  ain't  been  down  but  once  before  since 

334 


MY  SURPRISE 

fall,  and  that  time  I — well,  I  got  pickled,  partner, 
I  sure  did!  I  wa'n't  exactly  up  to  holding  lucid 
conversation  with  folks,  you  might  say." 

I  was  silenced. 

That  night  the  statement  was  written  in  the 
presence  of  Captain  Grif,  Wanza,  and  Father 
O'Shan,  and  it  went  forward  with  a  letter  from 
me  to  Haidee. 

Wanza  and  I  waited  impatiently  for  a  return 
letter  from  Haidee.  But  the  days  went  past 
like  shadows,  and  no  letter  came.  I  had  been 
climbing  upward  toward  the  summit  of  compara- 
tive peace,  I  had  almost  reached  it  when  Bill 
Jobson  came  with  his  disclosure.  But  now, 
hearing  nothing  from  my  wonder  woman,  the 
valley  closed  around  me.  I  walked  in  a  stagnant 
marsh,  the  atmosphere  was  that  of  the  lowland. 

One  night  some  three  weeks  after  the  letter 
from  Haidee  should  have  reached  me,  I  found 
myself  unable  to  sleep.  I  arose  and  dressed,  and 
went  outside  and  walked  along  the  river  road 
toward  the  village.  After  going  some  distance 
I  lay  down  beneath  a  tree  in  a  pine  grove.  It 
was  about  two  o'clock.  A  purple  darkness  lay 
all  around  me.  The  stars  were  like  pale  gems, 
clear  and  cool  and  polished.  The  Milky  Way 
was  like  a  fold  of  silver  gauze.  The  pines  stood 

335 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

up  very  black  and  silent  in  my  grove.  I  began 
to  wonder  why  I  ever  slept  indoors,  when  out  in 
the  woods  I  felt  as  though  I  were  in  God's  house, 
a  partaker  of  his  hospitality. 

I  relished  my  bed  of  pine  needles  extremely. 
I  began  to  ponder  many  things,  the  silence  and 
the  stars  served  to  give  my  thoughts  a  strange 
turn,  and  I  recalled  what  a  well-loved  writer  has 
said:  "To  live  out  of  doors  with  the  woman  a 
man  loves  is  of  all  lives  the  most  complete  and 
free." 

Yes,  I  said  to  myself: 

"Wandering  with  the  wandering  wind, 
Vagabond  and  unconfined." 

Slowly  I  said  over  to  myself  the  last  verse  of 
the  song — the  verse  I  had  not  given  to  Wanza: 

"Marna  of  the  far  quest 
After  the  divine ! 
Striving  ever  for  some  goal 
Past  the  blunder-god's  control ! 
Dreaming  of  potential  years 
When  no  day  shall  dawn  in  fears ! 
That's  the  Marna  of  my  soul, 
Wander-bride  of  mine !" 

Wander-bride  of  mine !  Was  it  a  woman  like 
Haidee  who  had  suggested  those  lines  to  the 

336 


MY  SURPRISE 

poet  ? —  Haidee  with  her  narrow,  oval  face,  and 
brow  of  ivory,  and  slow,  bell-like  voice.  Or  had 
it  been  some  elf-girl,  some  girl  of  flame  with  a 
temperament  wilder  than  most — a  gipsy  thing  of 
changing  moods,  and  passionate  phases  of  self- 
will,  alternating  with  abnegation  and  tender- 
ness,— with  a  face  like  a  wind-blown  flower,  and 
a  nature  very  human,  very  lovable  and  rare! — a 
girl  like  Wanza — say? 

After  a  time  I  slept.  When  I  awakened  the 
horizon  showed  a  silvery  light.  The  purple 
darkness  still  mantled  the  woods  and  the  stars 
still  shone,  but  day  was  coming  on  apace.  As  I 
lay  there,  half  dozing,  and  gradually  becoming 
tranquil  and  restored,  I  heard  faint  footfalls  and 
a  modulated  whistling  on  the  road  beyond. 
There  was  a  mellowness  about  the  whistle  that 
was  infinitely  piquant,  some  quality  that  stirred 
me  as  a  bird's  song  stirs.  Doubtless  some  ranch 
hand  thus  early  astir,  I  said  to  myself. 

I  had  not  long  to  speculate,  for  the  whistler 
approached,  left  the  road,  and  entered  the  grove 
wherein  I  lay.  I  could  hear  a  light  crackling  as 
the  invader  of  my  solitude  brushed  through  the 
growth  of  young  scrub  pines.  The  whistle 
changed  to  a  low  song,  and  the  song  was  sung  in 
a  woman's  voice. 

337 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

It  was  Wanza  who  was  coming  through  the 
pines  toward  me! 

When  she  was  comparatively  near  I  spoke 
from  my  couch  beneath  the  tree. 

"Hist!    Hist!    Wanza!" 

The  song  ceased.  I  knew  she  was  standing 
stock  still. 

"Who — who — where  are  you?"  her  voice 
sounded  frightened. 

"I'm  David  Dale.  And  I'm  not  ten  feet  from 
you — follow  my  voice.  Don't  trip  on  the  tree 
roots." 

She  came  towards  me  slowly.  I  stood  up  and 
went  to  meet  her.  As  I  advanced  a  strange  glee 
took  possession  of  me.  I  was  elated  at  this  un- 
expected encounter,  this  beautiful  rendezvous  be- 
tween darkness  and  dawn  in  the  pine  forest. 
And  at  the  thought  of  a  companion  to  watch 
with  me  the  coming  in  of  day. 

I  took  her  hand  silently.  We  went  forward 
to  the  pine  tree  and  sat  down  together  beneath 
it.  Wanza  did  not  speak.  I  was  enchanted  be- 
cause she  did  not.  I  could  just  dimly  see  her 
face.  Her  head  was  thrown  back,  and  I  knew 
her  eyes  were  lifted. 

The  light  began  to  spread  over  the  east.  Soon 
the  mountain  tops  .were  touched  with  orange  fire. 

338 


MY  SURPRISE 

A  cool  breeze  sprang  up,  and  the  young  hemlocks 
on  the  hillsides  swayed  and  tossed  their  fringes. 
But  the  pines  in  our  grove  stood  immovable  and 
black,  and  the  wood  vistas  were  unlit.  I  heard 
the  river,  and  the  babble  of  a  rillet  in  a  draw 
hard  by.  The  dulcet  sounds  were  the  only 
sounds  we  heard.  The  whole  world  seemed  wait- 
ing. We  sat  thus  for  perhaps  ten  minutes,  while 
the  light  spread  over  the  east  and  the  purple 
darkness  of  our  grove  gradually  gave  way  to  a 
cool  gray  aspect.  And  then  the  sun  came  up,  a 
spurt  of  liquid  amber  in  the  urn  of  the  sky,  and 
its  light  trickled  far  out  over  the  hills,  and  the 
stars  grew  pale  and  disappeared.  The  day  had 
come. 

I  was  exhilarated.  I  was  filled  with  full 
measure  of  good  will  and  gratification.  And  I 
glanced  at  my  companion,  to  read  in  her  face  her 
appreciation  of  the  miracle.  She  was  smiling 
ineffably,  and  as  I  turned  fully  towards  her,  she 
closed  her  eyes.  I  became  conscious  then  that  I 
was  holding  out  my  hand  to  her.  I  looked  down 
at  it  curiously,  and  I  looked  at  her  face,  bent  for- 
ward and  peered  at  it  again.  Who  was  this  com- 
panion who  had  shared  my  solitude,  and  by  her 
understanding  made  it  perfect? — who  had  given 
me  quiet  fellowship,  sat  near  me  in  the  starlight, 

339 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

watched  the  day  come  in  with  me,  and  now  rested 
within  reach  of  my  hand?  Who  should  it  be,  I 
answered  myself  wonderingly,  but  my  old  friend 
and  companion,  Wanza? 

She  opened  her  lids  and  I  saw  the  wonder  of 
the  sunrise  in  her  eyes,  and  something  mysterious 
and  deep  blended  with  the  languor  of  sleep. 
And  when  she  smiled  at  me  and  whispered  my 
name,  I  quivered  suddenly  and  the  blood  surged 
unbidden  into  my  face.  "Wanza,"  I  said, 
"Wanza!" 

"Yes?"  she  breathed. 

"Hasn't  it  been  wonderful,  Wanza?  Hasn't 
it  been  miraculous?  'Every  hour  of  the  light 
and  dark'  is  a  miracle,  but  the  sunrise  is  the 
greatest  one  of  all.  It  is  arresting.  I  can  never 
drop  off  to  sleep  again  if  I  waken  and  see  the 
sky  rosy."  I  spoke  with  a  fluttered  haste,  my 
words  tumbling  over  each  other  in  a  way  not  at 
all  characteristic,  and  when  Wanza  whispered: 
"Why,  neither  can  I,"  I  laughed  outright  joy- 
ously. 

"I  found  a  wonderful  wake-robin  in  the 
woods  yesterday,"  I  began  after  a  pause;  "the 
petals  were  pink  and  strongly  veined,  and  it  was 
monstrous — monstrous!  petals  two  inches — well, 
almost  two  inches.  It  must  be  a  large-flowered 

340 


MY  SURPRISE 

wake-robin.  The  trilliums  have  been  profuse 
this  spring.  This  fellow  was  belated — its  com- 
panions are  all  gone." 

"The  robins  woke  up  two  months  ago," 
Wanza  said,  shyly  eager.  "And  they  have 
finished  their  courting." 

"Yes,  they  are  very  wide-awake,  and  business- 
like. But  they  have  not  finished  their  courting, 
— I  am  sure  I  witnessed  a  love  scene  yesterday." 
"Not  really,  Mr.  Dale?" 
"It  looked  uncommonly  like  one." 
In  the  growing  light  I  saw  that  her  face  had 
kindled.  It  was  lifted  to  mine,  and  she  was 
drinking  in  every  word.  The  emotion  the  sight 
of  that  kindled  face  aroused  in  me  started  a  train 
of  thought,  and  checked  the  words  on  my  lips. 
Oh,  in  very  truth  there  was  something  puzzlingly 
complex  about  my  feeling  for  Wanza!  I  re- 
coiled as  from  some  revelation  that  I  did  not  care 
to  face  as  she  continued  to  smile  at  me.  But  her 
eyes  drew  me,  and  I  leaned  forward  and  peered 
into  them;  and  as  once  before  I  read  their 
message,  but  I  continued  to  gaze  this  time  until 
the  lashes  swept  down  and  the  light  was  hid. 

I  walked  back  to  the  village  with  Wanza,  and 
there  was  the  tinkle  of  bells  on  cattle  awake  in 
the  meadows,  and  the  stir  of  sheep  milling  on 

341 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

rocky  hillsides,  and  the  crowing  of  cocks  and  the 
chirp  of  birds  to  proclaim  that  morning  had 
come.  We  were  almost  at  the  village  when  she 
put  a  question  to  me. 

"Mr.  Dale,  do  you  know  what  day  to-morrow 
is?" 

I  had  been  expecting  the  question  and  dread- 
ing it. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  know  well  that  it  is  the 
day  we  have  been  accustomed  to  celebrate  as 
Joey's  birthday." 

I  spoke  impatiently.  But  when  I  saw  the 
tears  in  her  eyes,  I  stopped  there  in  the  road  and 
took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  turned  her  around 
to  me  ruthlessly,  crying: 

"Listen  to  me !  You  must  be  hurt,  if  you  will, 
at  my  surliness,  Wanza  Lyttle!  I  cannot  keep 
my  tongue  smooth  when  my  nerves  are  ragged. 
We  go  on  and  on,  and  bear  much — stoically — 
for  weeks,  months,  years,  indeed,  and  then — 
suddenly,  we  can  bear  no  more!  We  reach  the 
pinnacle  of  pain.  We  cry  out — with  the  poign- 
ancy of  it.  But  after  that,  I  have  a  fancy,  we 
can  never  suffer  so  much  again.  I  am  at  the 
pinnacle.  There  is  no  last  straw  for  me.  It  has 
been  placed.  After  to-morrow  the  worst  will  be 

342 


MY  SURPRISE 

over.  God!  let  me  get  through  the  day  and  play 
the  man." 

She  said  not  a  word.  We  parted  silently. 
But  after  I  had  gone  a  little  way  she  came  run- 
ning after  me. 

"I  only  wanted  to  say,  David  Dale,"  she 
breathed,  "I  only  wanted  to  say — " 

"Yes,  Wanza?" 

"I  only  wanted  to  say,  'God  bless  you.' ' 


343 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   OLD   SWIMMING   HOLE 

AND  so  I  came  to  the  day  that  was  sacred 
to  Joey! 
I  began  it  by  ploughing  in  the  field 
back  of  the  cabin.  I  went  not  near  the  shop.  I 
did  not  venture  into  the  cabin  for  lunch  at  noon. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  work  doggedly  till 
sundown  and  then  go  to  the  village  inn  for 
supper,  and  later  join  Father  O'Shan  at  Captain 
Grif's.  Someway  it  comforted  me  to  think  of 
the  evening;  of  the  snug  little  nook  beneath  the 
eaves ;  and  of  the  welcome  that  awaited  me  there. 
I  saw  Wanza's  face,  in  fancy — solicitous, 
pleased;  I  saw  her  figure  there  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  clasped  by  the  yellow  light  of  the 
swinging  lamp,  her  hair  gilded  by  its  rays,  on 
her  cheek  an  eager  flush.  Kind  heart!  Dear, 
helpful  girl!  Cheerful,  buoyant,  valiant  little 
wander-friend ! 

The  sun  for  a  June  sun  was  unduly  fervid,  so 
that  by  four  o'clock  I  was  weary  and  dripping 

344 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

with  perspiration,  and  longing  for  a  dip  in  the 
river.  I  rested,  and  leaning  on  my  plough, 
looked  away  through  the  cedars  and  cottonwoods 
to  the  green  of  the  river  flashing  in  the  sunlight. 
I  heard  the  rattle  of  the  stage  on  the  road,  and 
when  I  was  certain  it  had  passed  I  went  to  the 
cabin  and  put  on  my  bathing  suit.  I  went  in  at 
the  back  door  of  the  cabin,  and  out  at  the  front, 
passed  through  the  yew  grove,  crossed  the  bridge 
to  the  shop,  and  so  gained  the  river  bank  and  my 
favorite  swimming  hole  beneath  the  cedar  trees. 

The  spreading  trees  threw  a  deep  shade  over 
the  pool.  It  was  almost  twilight  beneath  their 
network  of  branches.  And  I  was  on  the  bank 
prepared  for  a  dive  before  I  saw  a  small  figure 
below  me  seated  on  a  boulder  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  half  hidden  from  view  by  the  steep  slope 
of  the  bank.  I  saw  the  flash  of  bare  feet  in  the 
water.  Poised  ready  to  spring  I  gave  a  shout, 
"Look  out,"  and  shot  out  over  the  small  figure 
and  into  the  pool. 

When  I  came  up,  blowing  like  a  porpoise,  the 
figure  was  standing  waist  deep  in  water  and 
waving  thin  excited  arms  abroad.  I  saw  the 
face.  It  was  gaunt,  fever-bright,  and  not  like 
my  lad's  as  I  had  seen  it  last,  but  it  was  Joey 
who  stood  there. 

345 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  lifted  him  up  and  he  clasped  my  neck  almost 
to  strangulation,  wrapping  his  long  legs  around 
me,  and  I  raced  with  him  to  the  house.  Once  in- 
side I  stripped  him,  seized  a  towel  and  rubbed 
his  cold  little  body  until  it  glowed,  and  he  laughed 
and  cried  and  laughed  again,  and  clutched  my 
neck  and  finally  stammered: 

"I  got — got  here!  I  come  for  my  birthday — 
all  the  way  from  the  East  alone." 

"Alone!" 

"Yep!  And  I'm  going  to  stay.  Going  to 
stay  forever — Bell  Brandon  said  so.  They's  a 
letter  in  my  satchel  for  you." 

I  hugged  him  to  my  breast. 

"But  what  were  you  doing  in  the  swimming 
hole,  Joey?" 

He  looked  at  me,  smiled  his  shrewd  young 
smile,  and  said : 

"Washing  off  the  dust  and — and  tidying  my- 
self. Let's  see  the  cake,  now,  Mr.  David." 

"The  cake?" 

He  nodded.     "Hasn't  Wanza  baked  it  yet?" 

"Why,  Joey  lad,  we  haven't  any  ready  to-day ! 
Can't  you  understand?" 

His  face  grew  blank,  his  eyes  filled,  and  he 
shivered  suddenly;  he  seemed  to  shrivel  in  my 
arms,  and  he  turned  his  head  away  from  me. 

346 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

"What  is  it,  Joey?" 

"I — I — don't  anybody  want  me?" 

"Want  you?"  I  was  aghast.  "There,  and 
there,  and  there,"  I  cried,  giving  him  a  rapid  suc- 
cession of  hugs.  "Doesn't  this  look  as  though  I 
wanted  you?" 

"Is  Wanza  sick?"  There  was  something 
hopeful  in  his  tone. 

"No,"  I  said,  "Wanza  is  very  well,  lad." 

Again  that  blank  look,  that  delicate  shiver. 

"We'll  have  a  fire  going  in  no  time,  lad,  and 
a  cake  in  the  oven,  and  the  blue  dishes  on  the 
table.  And  say  the  word  and  I'll  slap  the  saddle 
on  Buttons  and  ride  post  haste  to  Wanza  and 
tell  her  I  have  a  wonderful,  wonderful  surprise 
for  her — that  Joey  has  come  back,  after  we  had 
given  up  hoping.  I'll  bring  her  here — shall  I, 
Joey? — to  help  bake  the  cake.  Oh,  dear,  dear 
lad! — "  I  cried,  and  broke  down. 

Such  a  shout  as  he  gave.  He  had  me  by  the 
neck  and  was  clinging  to  me  like  a  wild  young 
savage.  "You  didn't  get  my  letter — you  didn't, 
you  didn't!" 

"Did  you  write,  Joey?" 

"Yep,  sure  I  wrote.  Course  I  wrote.  Soon 
as  Bell  Brandon  told  me  I  belonged  to  you  really 
and  truly  I  wrote  and  I  let  Bell  Brandon  put  a 

347 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

letter  in  the  envelope  with  mine.  I  put  your 
name  on  the  outside.  I  printed  Mr.  David,  as 
careful,  and  Bell  Brandon  watched  me.  She 
made  me  write  Dale  on  it,  too.  But  when  she 
wasn't  looking  I  rubbed  out  the  Dale  part,  and 
I  mailed  it  myself  on  the  corner.  I  told  you  to 
spect  me  on  my  birthday,  and  Bell  Brandon  told 
you  to  meet  me  at  Spokane  'cause  I  was  coming 
all  alone  from  Chicago." 

Poor  lad!  Poor  disappointed  lad!  He  gave 
a  strange,  tired  sigh,  but  meeting  my  somber  eyes, 
brightened.  "I  like  traveling  alone.  Pooh! 
I'd  liever  travel  alone  than — than  anything. 
But  when  you  didn't  meet  me  at  Roselake  even, 
I  thought — I  thought  p'r'aps  you  didn't  want 
me!  And  when  I  got  out  of  the  stage  at  the 
meadow  and  cut  across,  and  peeked  at  the  cabin 
and  you  wasn't  around,  I  was  'most  sure  you 
didn't  want  me.  And  then  I  saw  how  dirty  I 
was,  and  I  thought  I'd  tidy  up  first  before  you 
saw  me,  anyhow." 

I  went  back  to  the  river  bank,  sought  for  and 
found  Joey's  traveling  bag  and  carried  it  to  the 
house.  Joey  brought  out  of  its  depths  a  letter 
and  handed  it  to  me.  But  I  did  not  read  it  at 
once.  I  put  my  lad  in  a  big  chair  in  the  kitchen, 
and  I  built  a  fire  in  the  stove  and  I  set  out  flour 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

and  sugar  and  molasses,  all  the  while  praying 
that  Wanza  would  appear.  I  laid  the  table  in 
the  front  room  with  the  best  blue  china,  and  I 
got  out  the  pressed  glass  comport;  and  I 
gathered  handfuls  of  syringa  and  honeysuckle, 
and  brought  them  in  the  big  yellow  pitcher  to 
Joey,  saying: 

"You  may  arrange  these,  Joey,  for  the  table." 

But  to  my  surprise  he  took  the  flowers  list- 
lessly, and  when  I  glanced  around  after  a  few 
moments  I  saw  that  he  had  set  the  pitcher  down 
on  the  floor  and  was  leaning  back  in  the  chair  with 
closed  eyes.  I  went  and  stood  at  his  side,  but  he 
did  not  open  his  eyes. 

"Tired,  Joey?" 

He  yawned.     "Terrible  tired,  Mr.  David." 

I  looked  at  him  irresolutely,  then  gathered  him 
up  in  my  arms. 

"Come  along,  old  fellow,  lie  down  on  your  bed 
in  the  cedar  room,  and  sleep  till  supper's  ready," 
I  suggested. 

His  hand  stroked  my  cheek  with  the  old  caress. 
He  yawned  again.  I  lifted  him  and  carried  him 
to  the  cedar  room  and  placed  him  on  the  bed.  I 
took  off  his  shoes  and  drew  the  shawl  flower  quilt 
over  him.  He  spoke  then: 

"Tell  Wanza  when  she  comes,  to  wake  me  first 
349 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

thing.  I  love  Bell  Brandon — but  I  love  Wanza 
best.  I  guess — I'll — sleep  pretty  good — with 
this  dear  old  quilt  over  me — "  his  voice  grew  in- 
distinct, he  stretched,  blinked  once  or  twice, 
closed  his  eyes,  and  snuggled  luxuriously  into  his 
pillows.  I  tiptoed  from  the  room. 

In  the  front  room  I  sat  down  by  the  window, 
took  Haidee's  letter  from  my  pocket  and  read  it. 

"I  hope  nothing  will  prevent  you  from  meeting  Joey 
in  Spokane,"  I  read.  "I  have  heard  nothing  from  you 
on  that  point.  But  I  am  almost  sure  you  received  my 
letter  telling  you  of  my  illness  and  inability  to  travel, 
and  asking  you  to  meet  Joey  on  the  fifth.  I  cannot 
but  believe  Bill  Jobson's  story — strange  as  it  seems. 
My  own  little  boy  is  gone  forever. 

"When  you  receive  this  Joey  will  be  with  you — there 
in  the  old  place  that  he  loves  so  dearly.  And  you — 
how  you  will  rejoice  to  have  your  lad  again.  Bless  you 
both!  David  Dale,  I  shall  not  visit  Hidden  Lake  this 
summer, — I  have  learned  much  in  these  past  months. 
Do  you  not  know  your  own  heart  yet?  I  have  read 
carefully,  searchingly  all  the  letters  you  have  written 
me  this  past  winter,  and  I  find  Wanza,  Wanza,  between 
the  lines.  She  is  the  true  mate  for  you — can  you  not 
see  this?  Do  you  not  feel  it?  Do  you  not  know  you 
love  her — as  she  loves  you?  I  knew  I  should  reach  a 
happy  solution  of  our  problem — given  the  much  needed 
perspective;  and  the  solution  is  this — you  love  Wanza 
Lyttle,  and  I  care  for  you  only  as  a  dear,  kind  friend. 

350 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

"No,  I  shall  not  visit  Hidden  Lake  this  year.  Per- 
haps next  summer — but  'To-morrow  is  a  day  too  far 
to  trust  whate'er  the  day  be.'  I  shall  never  forget 
Joey  or  you,  or  your  wonderful  kindness  and  friend- 
ship. Good-bye,  Mr.  Fixing  Man, — or  not  good-bye! 
au  revoir.  Oh,  all  the  good  wishes  in  the  world  I  send 
to  you  and  Joey — and  Wanza. 

"JUDITH  BATTERLY." 

When  I  finished  this  letter  I  sat  quietly, 
watching  curiously  a  white  butterfly — a  Pine 
White — skimming  back  and  forth  above  a  flower- 
ing currant  bush  that  grew  close  to  the  window. 
I  found  myself  strangely  impassive.  I  said  to 
myself  that  Haidee  was  mistaken  about  my  feel- 
ing for  Wanza;  but  I  experienced  no  sense  of 
bereavement  because  she  had  found  that  her  own 
feeling  for  me  was  that  of  a  friend,  merely.  I 
was  not  even  surprised.  "I  have  Joey,"  I  kept 
repeating  over  and  over  to  myself,  hugging  this 
comfort  to  my  breast.  There  was  a  fear  back 
of  my  exultation  in  the  lad's  possession.  A  fear 
that  was  strong  enough  to  force  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  Haidee's  communication  into  the  back- 
ground of  my  mind.  Was  my  lad  ill  ?  Was  he 
really  ill?  I  asked  myself.  He  was  thin,  and  his 
cheeks  were  feverishly  bright,  and  his  voice 
sounded  tired, — but,  was  he  a  sick  child? 

351 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

I  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  looked  at  the  in- 
gredients set  forth  on  the  table  and  then  out  of 
the  window  anxiously.  If  only  Wanza  would 
come  and  a  wonderful  spice  cake  could  be  in  the 
oven  when  Joey  awakened.  If  only —  But 
here  I  broke  off  in  my  musings,  for  I  heard  a 
strange  sound  from  the  cedar  room. 

I  went  as  fast  as  my  feet  could  carry  me  to 
the  room  where  I  had  left  my  boy.  I  found  him 
lying,  face  downward  on  the  floor,  where  he  had 
evidently  fallen  when  he  attempted  to  walk  from 
his  bed  to  the  door.  I  lifted  him,  turned  his  face 
to  me,  and  examined  it.  It  was  flushed  so  deep 
a  red  as  to  be  almost  purple.  His  eyes  were 
open,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  see  me,  his  lips  were 
parted,  the  breath  was  hot  on  my  face.  I  placed 
him  on  the  bed,  and  he  murmured  unintelligibly. 

I  knew  then  that  my  lad  was  ill,  indeed,  and 
when  I  heard  a  step  behind  me  and  saw  Wanza 
on  the  threshold,  I  ran  and  caught  her  hand. 
"Thank  God,  you  have  come,"  I  exclaimed. 

"They  told  me  in  Roselake  Joey  was  back," 
she  cried,  and  brushed  past  me  to  the  bed. 

I  turned  and  went  from  the  room.  A  few 
moments  later  she  came  to  me. 

"What  has  she  done  to  him?  What  has  she 
done  to  him?"  she  burst  forth. 

352 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

"She  has  done  nothing,  Wanza." 

"Why  did  you  say,  'Thank  God'?"  she  cried, 
fiercely.  "Do  you  think  I  can  save  him?  Mr. 
Dale,  he  is  sick — he  is  very  sick — he  has  pined 
and  pined — for  a  sight  of  you,  and  Jingles  and 
Buttons.  What  do  you  think  he  said  just  now? 
— raving  as  he  is.  'Will  I  go  back  soon,  Bell 
Brandon?  No,  thank  you,  I  can't  eat — I  guess 
I  want  Mr.  David,  and  Jingles  and  Buttons,  and 
my  own  little  cedar  room.'  If  he  dies — David 
Dale— if  he  dies!— " 

"Please — please,  Wanza — " 

She  looked  into  my  face,  her  eyes  were  black 
with  emotion. 

"Saddle  Buttons  and  go  at  once  for  a  doctor! 
I'll  put  Joey  in  a  cold  pack  while  you're  gone; 
he's  burning  with  fever." 

"Practical,  capable,  ever  ready  to  serve;  lavish 
of  her  affection,  staunch  in  her  friendship,  'steel 
true, — blade  straight,' — that  is  Wanza,"  I  said 
to  myself  as  I  rode  away. 

The  outcome  of  the  doctor's  visit  was  that  I 
sent  for  Mrs.  Olds.  Wanza  and  I  got  through 
the  night  somehow,  and  the  next  day  Mrs.  Olds 
came.  I  think  this  strange  being  entertained 
some  slight  tenderness  for  Joey,  for  when  she 
saw  him  lying  among  his  pillows  with  heavy- 

353 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

lidded  eyes  and  fever-seared  cheeks,  she  stooped 
and  touched  his  brow  very  gently  with  her  lips. 
Joey  recognized  her  when  she  entered  the  room 
late  at  night  in  her  heelless  slippers  and  flannel 
dressing  gown,  and  set  her  small  clock  on  the 
shelf  above  the  bed.  "Mrs.  Olds,"  he  ordered 
distinctly,  "take  that  clock  out  to  the  kitchen." 

Taken  by  surprise,  Mrs.  Olds  protested: 
"There,  there,  Joey,  don't  bother  with  me — that's 
a  good  boy.  Just  close  your  eyes  and  go  to  sleep 
again." 

"I  don't  watch  the  clock!  Mr.  David  says  the 
Now  is  the  thing.  Take  it  out !  When  the  birds 
sing  I'll  get  up." 

But  the  birds  sang  and  Joey  did  not  awaken. 
He  slept  heavily  all  that  day.  And  when  he 
aroused  toward  midnight  he  did  not  know  me. 
The  following  day  he  was  worse,  and  that  night 
I  despaired.  In  his  delirium  he  said  things  that 
well  nigh  crazed  me.  His  mutterings  were  all 
of  me,  with  an  occasional  reference  to  the  collie 
and  Buttons.  "I  don't  like  to  leave  Mr.  David 
alone,  so  long,"  he  kept  repeating.  "I  'most 
know  he  wants  me  back  again — I  been  his  boy  so 
long." 

Presently  when  he  sobbed  out  shrilly:  "I  just 
got  to  go  back  to  Mr.  David!"  I  arose  precipi- 

354 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

tately,  quitted  the  room  and  went  out  to  the 
bench  in  the  Dingle. 

But  some  one  already  was  sitting  there.  I 
could  see  her  in  the  light  from  the  room.  A  girl 
in  a  rose-colored  dressing-gown  with  long  braids 
down  her  back,  sat  there,  looking  up  at  the  star- 
filled  sky  through  the  tree  branches.  I  advanced 
and  she  made  room  for  me  at  her  side.  I  sat 
down,  too  stunned,  too  grief  stricken  for  words. 
We  sat  there  in  silence.  Presently  her  uneven 
breathing,  her  sobbing  under-breaths,  disturbed 
me. 

"Please — please,  Wanza — don't,"  I  begged. 

"I've  been  praying,"  she  stammered. 

"That  is  well,  dear  girl." 

"Praying  that  Joey  will  live." 

"It  seems  a  small  thing  for  God  to  grant — in 
his  omnipotence.  It  is  everything  in  the  world 
to  me,"  I  murmured  brokenly.  "Why,  girl,  if 
my  boy  lives  I  shall  be  the  happiest  man  on  God's 
footstool!  I  shall  be  immeasurably  content.  I 
shall  ask  nothing  beside — nothing!" 

She  stirred.     "Nothing,  Mr.  Dale — nothing?" 

"Nothing." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dale,  you  think  so  now — but  you'll 
be  wanting  her  to  come  back — you  can't  help 
wanting  that!" 

355 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"I  am  very  sure  I  shall  never  ask  for  that, 
Wanza.  Joey  brought  me  a  letter.  She  is  not 
coming  back  this  year." 

"Not  coming  back?" 

"She  may  never  come  again  to  Hidden  Lake, 
Wanza.  We  may  never  see  her  again." 

"But  I  don't  understand,  David  Dale! — oh,  I 
thought  some  day  you  would  marry — you  and 
she." 

Her  voice  was  uneven  and  very  low. 

"Child,"  I  said  gravely,  "it  is  not  to  be.  She 
cares  for  me  only  as  a  friend.  And  I — " 

"You  love  her — you  know  you  do!" 

She  spoke  passionately. 

"Wanza,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  "it  has  been  a 
long  winter,  hasn't  it  ?" 

"Pretty  long,"  she  answered,  surprised. 

"You  have  learned  much  this  winter." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dale." 

"And  I  have  learned,  too — without  knowing 
it.  I  have  learned  very  gradually  that  I  do  not 
love  Judith  Batter ly — so  gradually,  indeed,  that 
I  did  not  realize  until  to-day  the  extent  of  my 
knowledge.  She  told  me  in  her  letter  it  was  so — 
then  I  knew." 

She  sat  very  still,  her  head  thrown  back,  her 
eyes  on  the  sky.  The  stirring  leaves  made 

356 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

shadows  on  her  gown,  the  moonlight  flicked 
through  the  vines  above  her,  and  her  hair  glittered 
like  gilt.  Her  eyes  were  big  and  shining,  and 
something  on  her  cheek  was  shining,  too. 

"Praying — still,  Wanza?"  I  whispered,  after 
a  time. 

She  put  out  her  hand. 

"Please,  Wanza,  say  a  prayer  for  me." 

"I  am  praying  that  what  you  told  me  is  true." 

"It  is  true.  Pray  that  I  be  forgiven  for  being 
a  stupid,  clumsy  fellow,  unable  to  appreciate  your 
true  worth — "  I  stopped.  I  was  being  carried 
on  and  I  knew  not  where  I  desired  to  pause.  I 
checked  myself,  and  bit  my  lip. 

"I  could  not  offer  such  a  prayer,"  I  heard  her 
say.  "I  am  not  worth  anything  to  anybody,  Mr. 
Dale,  except  to  Father.  I  am  going  to  try, 
though,  to  make  myself  all  over — knowing  you 
want  me  to  improve,  and  to  show  you  I  take  your 
kindness  to  heart.  I  think  I  am  improving  a 
little,  don't  you?  I  don't  talk  so  loud,  and  I 
dress  quieter — more  quietly — and  I  speak  better. 
Can't  you  see  an  improvement,  Mr.  Dale?" 

"Someway,  Wanza,"  I  replied,  speaking  mus- 
ingly, "I  like  you  as  you  are — as  you  have 
always  been.  It  is  only  for  your  own  sake  that 
I  care  to  have  you  improve."  And  as  I  said  the 

357 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

words  I  realized  that  this  thought  had  been  in 
the  back  of  my  mind  for  some  time,  and  that 
Wanza's  piquant  utterances  and  lapses  in  Eng- 
lish had  never  jarred  on  me — that  it  was  strictly 
true  that  it  was  only  for  Wanza's  own  sake  I 
would  have  her  changed. 

"You  like  me  as  I  am?" 

The  voice  was  incredulous. 

"As  well  as  I  shall  when  you  have  finished 
your  education,  child." 

"As  well?" 

"Yes." 

"You  won't  like  me  better  then?" 

"No,  no  better,  Wanza." 

She  rose  and  stood  before  me.  The  light  from 
the  open  door  of  the  cedar  room  was  on  her  face, 
and  I  saw  hopelessness  in  her  eyes,  and  a  tremu- 
lousness  about  her  lovely  child-mouth. 

"You  will  never  like  me  very,  very  much,  then, 
I  guess,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

She  did  not  give  me  a  chance  to  respond  to 
this,  but  turned  and  went  away  through  the 
cedars,  and  I  sat  still,  saying  over  to  myself: 
"Very,  very  much." 

And  as  I  said  the  words  I  thrilled;  my  blood 
seemed  to  surge  into  my  eyes  and  blind  me. 
Something  had  me  by  the  throat.  It  was  a 

358 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

strange  moment.  In  that  moment  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  truth — a  white  light  illumined  my 
seeking,  groping  senses.  Then  it  was  gone.  I 
was  in  darkness  again.  But  in  that  brief  light- 
ning space  I  had  stood  on  the  brink  of  a  revela- 
tion. In  the  weeks  and  months  past,  through 
the  blinding — the  fervid — gleam  of  my  feeling 
for  Haidee  I  had  seen  Wanza  but  obscurely — 
Wanza — tried  day  after  day  by  homeliest  duties, 
and  not  found  wanting;  I  had  seen  that  she  had 
her  own  bookless  lore  as  she  had  her  own  in- 
disputable charm;  I  had  known  that  at  times  she 
swayed  me;  but  I  had  never  come  so  near  to 
knowing  my  heart  as  in  that  evanescent,  stabbing, 
revealing,  moment. 

As  I  sat  there  I  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  rest, 
almost  of  emancipation.  I  was  weary  of  cob- 
webbed  dreams,  sick  of  straining  after  the  unat- 
tainable. My  thoughts  reverted  to  life  as  it  had 
been  in  the  old  days  before  the  coming  of  the 
wonder  woman,  to  the  days  when  Joey  and 
Wanza  and  I  had  managed  to  go  through  the 
tedium  of  our  hours  placidly  enough.  I  longed 
to  take  up  the  old,  sane  routine.  I  was  impatient 
with  suffering  that  chafed  and  gnawed  the  heart- 
strings. 

I  said  to  myself  that  all  that  was  left  of  my 
359 


THE  WONDER  WPMAN 

former  feeling  for  Haidee  was  admiration,  rever- 
ence for  her  goodness,  and  a  wonder — she  was  a 
dream  woman — she  would  remain  a  dream 
woman  always — an  elusive,  charming  person- 
ality, something  too  fine  for  the  common  round 
of  daylight  duties.  I  thought  of  the  poet's  lines : 

"I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  every  day's  most  quiet 
need,  by  sun  and  candle  light." 

Had  I  thought  of  Haidee  so? 

When  I  turned  back  to  the  cedar  room,  Mrs. 
Olds  met  me  at  the  door  with  a  whispered,  "Joey 
is  lucid — he  is  asking  for  you."  I  crossed  swiftly 
to  the  bed,  knelt  down  and  took  my  lad's  hand. 
He  smiled  at  me  in  his  old  way,  but  his  eyes  went 
past  me  to  Mrs.  Olds.  His  voice  was  distinct  as 
he  ordered,  "Go,  get  Wanza,  Mrs.  Olds,  please." 

I  heard  Wanza's  step  at  that  moment.  She 
came  softly  forward  and  crouched  beside  me. 
"I  am  here,  Joey,"  she  said  in  her  rich  young 
voice. 

"That's  all  right  then!  Wanza;  if  I  don't  get 
well  you  got  to  marry  Mr.  David." 

The  troubled  face  bending  down  over  the  gray 
one  on  the  pillow,  flamed.  "Joey — dear!" 

"Yes,  Wanza,"  pleadingly,  "cause  who'll  take 
care  of  him?" 

360 


THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE 

I  cleared  my  throat.  "Come,  lad,  you  will  be 
well  in  a  few  days — up  and  around  in  the  woods, 
feeding  the  squirrels." 

"Yes— but  if  I  ain't!"  Tender,  wistful,  ques- 
tioning, his  loyal  brown  eyes  sought  Wanza's. 
"You  got  to,  Wanza.  Say  yes." 

The  girl's  voice  whimpered  and  broke.  "I 
can't!" 

"Why,  yes  you  can!  They's  no  one  can  cook 
like  you,  Wanza.  Mr.  David  can't  live  here 
alone  when  he's  old — he  can't  live  here  alone  no 
more — say  you'll  come  and  take  care  of  him. 
Why,  you  like  the  birds  and  the  squirrels — you 
know  you  do,  Wanza — and  you  like  Mr.  David, 
too.  Will  you,  Wanza?"  The  soft  wheedling 
accents  wrung  my  heart. 

At  the  girl's  head-shake  he  whispered  to  me, 
"You  ask  her,  Mr.  David." 

My  hand  groped  for  hers,  closed  over  it, 
gripped  it  hard. 

"If  I  ask  her  now — if  she  says  yes,  lad — it  will 
be  for  your  sake — all  for  your  sake,  Joey." 

The  big  eyes  were  understanding.  "Go  on, 
ask  her." 

"Will  you,  Wanza?" 

She  was  weeping. 

"Because  Joey  asks  it — because  it  will  ease  his 
361 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

mind,"  I  heard  her  choked  voice  stammer,  ''only 
because  of  that,  Mr.  Dale — only  for  Joey's  sake 
as  you  say — I  promise  if — if  you  need  me — "  she 
came  to  a  dead  stop. 

"To  marry  me,  Wanza." 

"For  Joey's  sake,  Mr.  Dale." 

"There,  Joey!"  I  shook  up  his  pillow  and 
laid  him  gently  back.  "It  is  all'  settled,  lad. 
Go  to  sleep  now." 

"Kiss  me,  once,  Mr.  David." 

I  kissed  him. 

"Kiss  Wanza,  now." 

Weariness  was  heavy  in  his  eyes,  his  voice  was 
quavering  and  weak;  and  forgetting  all  else  but 
his  gratification,  forgetting  Mrs.  Olds,  propriety, 
the  consequences  of  so  rash  an  act,  I  took  Wanza 
in  my  arms  and  kissed  her  lips,  then  stumbled 
blindly  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MY   WONDER   WOMAN 

WHEN  I  saw  Master  Joey  smiling  at 
me  wanly  from  his  pillow  the  next 
morning,  his  fever  gone,  his  eyes 
without  the  abnormal  brightness  of  the  previous 
two  days,  and  heard  his  modest  request  for  corn- 
meal  flapjacks  to  be  stirred  up  forthwith  in  the 
old  yellow  pitcher,  my  heart  leaped  into  my 
throat  for  joy.  I  was  so  riotously  happy  that  I 
went  outside  to  the  Dingle,  and  almost  burst  my 
throat  with  whistling  a  welcome  to  a  lazuli  bunt- 
ing, newly  arrived  from  his  winter  sojourn  in  the 
south  land.  He  was  so  azure-blue  on  his  head 
and  back,  so  tawny  breasted,  so  clear  a  white  on 
his  underparts  that  he  seemed  like  some  won- 
drous jewel  dropped  from  Paradise  into  the 
syringa  thicket. 

I  had  answered  his  "here,  here — "  until  I  was 
sure  he  understood  the  cordiality  of  my  welcome, 
when  I  heard  a  fluttering  among  the  serviceberry 
bushes  and  turned  to  see  a  sage  thrasher  fly 

363 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

out  and  soar  aloft  to  a  hemlock  tree.  I  whistled. 
He  answered  with  a  beautiful  song,  and  went  on 
to  imitate  other  birds'  songs,  ending  by  emitting 
a  sound  that  was  strangely  like  the  wail  of  a 
naughty  youngster.  I  laughed  outright,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  he  was  attempting  to  imitate  my 
laughter  as  I  walked  away.  The  birds  were 
coming  back  in  earnest.  How  glorious  the  early 
summer  was!  Was  there  ever  such  a  rose-gold 
morning?  I  was  overflowing  with  happiness. 
But  when  on  my  way  to  the  spring  I  hailed 
Wanza,  who  was  dipping  water  out  of  the  big 
barrel  by  the  kitchen  door,  and  received  a  del- 
icately frigid  "good  morning,"  something  rather 
strange  came  over  me,  my  glowing  heart  con- 
gealed, and  I  went  out  to  the  yew  grove,  and  sat 
down  soberly  on  the  railing  of  the  small  bridge 
that  spanned  the  narrow  mountain  stream. 

I  had  no  quarrel  with  Wanza  for  her  averted 
face.  But  I  had  a  feeling  that  the  blunder-god 
had  unwarrantably  interfered  again,  and  a  wish 
to  lift  my  affairs  up  off  the  knees  of  the  gods  once 
and  for  all  and  swing  them  myself.  I  felt  big 
enough  to  swing  them,  this  morning.  Only — I 
did  not  exactly  understand  the  state  of  my  own 
mind,  and  this  was  some  slight  detriment  to  clean 
swinging. 

364 


MY  WONDER  WOMAN 

For  one  thing — after  I  had  touched  Wanza's 
unwilling  lips  last  night  at  Joey's  bidding,  I  had 
sat  on  the  edge  of  my  bunk  in  the  darkness  un- 
able to  forget  the  feeling  of  those  warm  lips 
against  my  own — feeling  myself  revitalized — 
made  new.  What  had  happened  to  me  when  I 
held  the  girl  in  my  arms  for  that  brief  space? 
What  was  the  answer? 

I  sat  in  deep  thought,  starting  when  a  water 
ouzel  swooped  suddenly  down  past  my  face,  and 
plunged  into  the  water  at  my  very  feet.  I 
watched  it  emerge,  perch  on  a  boulder  further 
down  stream,  and  spread  its  slaty  wings  to  dry. 
The  day  was  languorous,  and  very  sweet.  One 
of  those  perfect  days  that  come  early  in  June 
when  the  woods  are  flower-filled,  and  the  trees 
full-leaved.  The  air  was  tangy  with  smells,  the 
honeysuckle  and  balm  o'  Gilead  dripped  per- 
fume, the  clover  was  bursting  with  sweetness,  and 
the  wild  roses  were  faintly  odorous ;  all  the  "buds 
and  bells"  of  June  were  dewy  and  clean-scented. 
The  nutty  flavor  of  yarrow  was  in  the  air — 
Achillea  millefolium — the  plant  which  Achilles 
is  said  to  have  used  in  an  ointment  to  heal  his 
myrmidons  wounded  in  the  siege  of  Troy.  I 
marked  this  last  flavor  well,  separating  it  from 
the  others.  "Poor  yarrow,"  I  said  to  myself, 

365 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"content  with  spurious  corners  and  waste  por- 
tions of  the  earth,  what  a  splendid  lesson  of  per- 
severance you  teach."  I  thought  of  myself  and 
of  my  struggle  of  the  last  eight  years,  and  com- 
pared myself  with  the  weed.  I  had  not  been  con- 
tent with  the  neglected  corners  of  the  earth;  but 
I  had  honestly  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  cor- 
ners; I  had  attempted  to  improve  them,  and  in 
so  doing  improve  myself. 

From  that  I  came  to  Joey  and  the  two  women 
who  had  helped  to  make  the  waste  places  bloom; 
and  like  Byron  I  had  a  sigh  for  Joey  and  Wanza 
who  loved  me;  and  I  had  a  tender  smile  for  my 
dream  woman — Haidee.  She  had  come  when, 
steeped  in  idealism,  I  was  all  prepared  for  the 
advent  of  the  radiant  creature  who  was  to  work 
a  metamorphosis  in  my  life.  She  had  come,  and 
I  had  hailed  her  Wonder  Woman.  It  had  been 
a  psychological  moment,  and  she  had  appeared. 
And  I  had  loved  her — let  me  not  cheat  myself 
into  any  contrary  belief — surely  I  had  loved  her 
— surely;  let  me  admit  that.  But  no — I  need 
not  admit  even  that,  since  it  was  not  the  truth— 
since  she  knew  it  was  not  the  truth.  I  had  loved 
an  ideal;  not  Judith  Batterly,  indeed,  but  a 
vague  dream  woman. 

366 


MY  WONDER  WOMAN 

"There  is  no  wonder  woman,"  I  said  to  my- 
self, thoughtfully. 

Restless  with  my  cogitations,  I  rose,  left  the 
bridge,  and  went  through  the  yews  to  the  work- 
shop. 

When  in  sight  of  the  bed  of  clove  pinks  I 
pulled  myself  up  smartly;  Wanza  knelt  there. 
I  was  not  too  far  away  to  see  the  glitter  of  tears 
on  her  cheeks;  but  in  spite  of  the  tears,  she  was 
smiling;  her  face  was  downbent,  rose-flushed,  to 
the  new  buds,  her  hands  were  clasped  on  her 
breast,  she  seemed  lost  in  ecstatic  revery,  and  on 
her  head  rested  delicately  a  nuthatch. 

"What  a  wonderful  way  Wanza  has  with  the 
birds,"  I  said  to  myself.  I  turned  this  over  in 
my  mind.  "I've  long  marked  it,"  I  added. 
Presently  still  watching  her,  I  decided,  "She  is  a 
rather  wonderful  child." 

I  continued  to  watch  her. 

She  began  to  croon  a  soft  little  song;  she  un- 
clasped her  hands  and  held  them  out  before  her. 
A  second  nuthatch  left  the  branch  of  a  pine  tree 
near  by  and  descended  to  settle  on  her  left  hand. 
She  gave  an  indistinct  gurgle  of  joy,  and  put  her 
right  hand  over  it. 

"Why,  she's  a  wonder,"  I  said  to  myself,  "a 
367 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

wonder — girl!"  I  hesitated,  and  then  exultantly 
I  murmured:  "A  wonder  woman!"  and  turned 
and  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  the  cabin. 

Arrived  there  I  sat  down  rather  breathlessly 
on  the  steps.  I  saw  light  at  last ! 

It  was  under  the  stars  that  night  that  I  told 
Wanza  of  my  discovery.  Joey  was  sleeping 
peacefully  indoors,  watched  over  by  Mrs.  Olds, 
the  doctor  had  just  left,  after  assuring  me  that 
my  lad  would  soon  be  convalescent,  and  Wanza 
and  I  walked  on  the  river-bank. 

"Wanza,"  I  said,  "is  that  a  russet-backed 
thrush  singing?" 

"I  think  so,  Mr.  Dale." 

"His  notes  are  wonderfully  liquid  and  round, 
aren't  they?"  I  gave  a  sigh  of  pure  happiness. 
"I  feel  like  a  'strong  bird  on  pinions  free,'  myself 
to-night.  I  feel  emancipated — as  though  life 
were  beginning  all  over  for  me.  I  am  in  love 
with  life,  Wanza.  I  want  to  awake  to-morrow 
and  begin  life  all  over." 

"Do  you,  Mr.  Dale?" 

"Isn't  the  world  beautiful  washed  in  this  moon- 
light! The  sky  seems  so  near — like  a  purple 
silk  curtain  strung  with  jewels.  But  it  is  quite 
dark  here  beneath  the  pines,  isn't  it,  Wanza?  I 
have  to  guess  at  the  flowers  under  our  fee£ 

368 


MY  WONDER  WOMAN 

There  is  white  hawthorn  nearby,  I  swear,  and  the 
yellow  violets  are  in  the  grass,  and  the  wild  for- 
get-me-not, and  I  smell  the  wild  roses — " 

"How  you  go  on,  Mr.  Dale!" 

"Wanza,"  I  said,  "look  up  at  the  stars  through 
the  pine  branches." 

"I  like  to  watch  them  in  the  river." 

"Yes,  but  look  up,  Wanza." 

She  looked  as  I  bade  her. 

"The  moonlight  in  your  eyes  is  wonderful, 
child." 

"Please  don't,  Mr.  Dale." 

"Keep  looking  at  the  stars,  Wanza — your  face 
is  like  an  angel's  seen  thus.  Your  hair  is  like 
silver  starshine,  your  lips  are  flowers — you  are 
very  wonderful — my  breath  fails  me,  Wanza. 
You  are  very  wonderful — a  wonder  woman — 
and  I  love  you.  Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Joey  isn't  going  to  die,  Mr.  Dale." 

"I  know  it." 

She  spoke  with  a  sobbing  breath:  "Then  why 
do  you  say  this?" 

"Because  I  love  you  with  my  whole  soul." 

"Oh!" 

"Turn  your  eyes  to  me,  dear.  Don't  look  at 
the  stars  any  more.  Do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

369 


THE  WONDER  WOMAN 

"Then  at  last  I  shall  be  blessed — I  shall  have 
a  wander-bride — a  wonder  woman — some  one 
who  understands  me,  and  whom  I  understand,  to 
share  with  me  the  coming  in  of  day,  the  mystery 
of  the  night  and  stars,  the  saneness  of  the  moon 
— I  shall  have — Wanza!  Do  you  remember, 
child: 

"  'Down  the  world  with  Marna ! 
That's  the  life  for  me ! 
Wandering  with  the  wandering  wind, 
Vagabond  and  unconfined!' 

"Do  you  remember  the  song  I  sang  to  you  in 
the  woods  one  night?  There  is  another  verse — 
listen! 

"  'Marna  of  the  far  quest 
After  the  divine! 
Striving  ever  for  some  goal 
Past  the  blunder-god's  control! 
Dreaming  of  potential  years 
When  no  day  shall  dawn  in  fears ! 
That's  the  Marna  of  my  soul, 
Wander-bride  of  mine !'  " 

The  beautiful  face  was  on  my  breast,  the  corn- 
flower blue  eyes  were  raised  to  mine,  the  maize- 
colored  hair  was  like  a  curtain  about  us,  shutting 
out  the  moonlight,  the  night,  the  world.  I  drew 

370 


MY  WONDER  WOMAN 

her  closer,  closer  still,  silently,  breathlessly,  until 
I  heard  her  give  a  shaken  cry : 

"It's  in  your  eyes — I  can  read  it!  You  do 
love  me,  you  do,  you  do!  David  Dale!  David 
Dale!" 

After  an  interval,  I  said : 

"I  am  writing  another  book,  Wanza.  I  am 
sure  it  will  sell.  We  will  go  away  from  here, 
child — we  can  live  where  we  choose — we  will  go 
south  to  my  old  home.  There  is  some  property 
there  that  is  mine.  You  will  love  the  old  home, 
and  the  river  with  its  red  clay  banks — my  child- 
hood's home.  We  will  travel,  too.  Life  seems 
very  full,  Wanza." 

"But  we'll  always  come  back  to  Cedar  Dale, 
won't  we,  David  Dale?  We'll  come  back  to  Dad 
— dear  Dad — he'll  always  be  waiting.  And  the 
birds  and  the  flowers — and  the  squirrels  and 
woodsy  things  will  be  waiting.  And  Joey  will 
want  to  come." 


THE   END 


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A     000128034     6 


